


Where the Thrush Knocks

by andquitefrankly



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: HRBB14, M/M, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, bilbo is a dorky professor obsessed with erebor, bilbo is ten thousand times done with their shit, but what else is new, thorin is also a dorky professeor obsessed with erebor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-01 22:16:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2789645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andquitefrankly/pseuds/andquitefrankly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erebor was a land lost to time, a myth and legend forgotten by all except one Bilbo Baggins whose only proof of its existence is an unreadable map. Aided by Gandalf and his less than expert "expert", Thorin Durin, Bilbo finds himself whisked away on an adventure to find Erebor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So this is my 2nd hrbb fic, and I hope you enjoy. Amazing prompt by Antisafic. I'll link art when I can. :)

Erebor was a myth – a legend. It was nothing more than a whisper. A world, a mountain, a palace; a cavern filled with gold and jewels, an entire civilization erased from the world, nothing but a lost treasure to prove it was real.

“A long, long time ago,” his mother would begin, tucking Bilbo into his bed. “Long before the pyramids and ages before the land between Euphrates and Tigris was settled, another civilization breathed and lived. Legend tells that it was a lone, solitary peak, and past the rocky exterior, found deep within the mountain was a city.”

“Erebor,” Bilbo would whisper reverently, arms wrapped around a stuffed dragon. “The Lonely Mountain.”

“That’s right,” his mother would say, lightly tapping his nose. He’d giggle as he wiggled his nose as he knew his mother liked. “Erebor.

“It was a rich and beautiful kingdom, and it lay deep within the mountain, tunnels and caverns served as halls and rooms. Giant caves where crystals lined the very stone, twinkling in the sunlight.

“Thousands upon thousands lived within Erebor, a strong city, a strong home. It was said that no one could match Erebor in brain, nor brawn. Their language so complex, their writing so beautiful, that strangers could not comprehend.

“It came so they could not leave their mountain for fear of those savage stranger who lived on the borders of their kingdom.

“Yet, the mountain was rich with the most valuable minerals. Gold, diamonds, rubies, emeralds, quartz, the list was endless. There was nothing but wealth within the mountain, and Erebor grew rich, their superiority on display for all to see.

“But all good things must come to an end, my dear Bilbo,” she said.

Bilbo would pout, his large eyes turned up at her, tears beginning to surface. “Finish the story, mum,” he’d insist. “Please.”

“It is time for bed,” Belladonna would tell him, kissing his forehead and turning off the light.

Tucked neatly into bed, Bilbo would stare up at the glowing stars stuck to the ceiling. He’d pretend they were jewels, reflecting the light of the moon like they did in Erebor.

Bilbo knew the story by heart, but still, every night he’d ask for it once more. He snuggled deep within his blankets and looked his dragon in the eye, finishing the story himself.

“It is said,” he’d inform his bedmate, “that on a festival day, a celebration for another year of peace and praus-tear-it-tee, a wind rushed through the mountain. A dragon!” He would lift his toy and make it fly, whooshing and whirring as he held it above his head.

“Fire overtook the mountain and Erebor was taken, lost to its people, forced out to wander the lands they had feared. A city destroyed and lost to time,” he finished.

* * *

The hall was empty, the clock ticking above Bilbo only adding to his nervousness. His toes tapped nervously, fingers resting on his knees, nails digging into his trousers, wrinkling the ever famous Baggins press. This was the third time he’d come to the Istari University Research Board.

He’d been rejected twice, and he wasn’t sure if he could handle a third rejection.

Though if that happened, he’d just have to chin up and work harder. He nodded resolutely. That was all there was to it.

He let go of his knees, smoothing down his trousers. Bilbo looked once more at the clock above him and pursed his lips. Surely they were done discussing It now.

The door opened and Bilbo looked up. The prominent line at Gandalf’s brow said it all. “Oh,” Bilbo muttered, taking in a breath. He nodded once more, lightly slapping his hands against his thighs before standing, gathering his books and papers. “I suppose it can’t be helped.”

“Perhaps next year,” Gandalf said cheerfully, grabbing Bilbo’s worn, leather satchel.

Bilbo smiled his thanks as Gandalf held the door open for him, and the two made their way out onto the campus, the early Summer sun saturating the green in the trees and the petals on the flowers.

“It was the map, wasn’t it?” Bilbo asked, stopping in the middle of the pavement, students passing them by as Bilbo focused on his loafers.

He looked up at Gandalf, arms helplessly flapping at his sides. “I know it’s impossible, Gandalf. I really do,” Bilbo revealed. “But Erebor is out there.”

Gandalf set a reassuring hand on his shoulder, shepherding him towards a bench. “We need to decipher the map,” Gandalf said. “It’s the only way they’ll actually consider you for the fellowship.”

Bilbo perked up. “Really?”

“Have I ever lied to you?” Gandalf asked.

A snort escaped Bilbo. More like, when hadn’t Gandalf lied to him? “You haven’t an honest bone in your body,” Bilbo told him. He watched the students pass them by, rushing off to their classes, the summer air beginning to stir a restlessness in all of them. Bilbo could feel the same bubbling up inside him.

If he could somehow find someone to translate the map, his mother’s map, then it was very much possible to get the Fellowship. And if he got the Fellowship – well if he got the damned Fellowship he’d pack his bags this instant and finally go looking for Erebor.

An expedition – an adventure! He’d finally be able to prove himself right. He’d walk into the lonely mountain and be greeted by jewels and gold and a world so distant from his own chances were Bilbo would break down and cry right then and there.

As much as Bilbo’s heart sang with the thought, his brain quickly doused the full-size orchestra to a lone fiddler. The map was his biggest issue.

His mother had given it to him, having found it when she was still in her youth, just as enamored of the legendary tale of Erebor as he. On her death bed she had made him promise not to be a foolish lad and go traipsing after a myth, but Bilbo couldn’t rest.

She was the one who had ignited the fire, and no amount of attempts to contain it ever succeeded. He had nothing but a map he couldn’t read and a bed time story keep the hope alive.

He had taken the map to experts, hoping that they’d be able to decipher the runic writing, but no luck. It was no language anyone could decipher, no roots in any dead languages, the alphabet like nothing seen before. Some claimed it appeared to be a form of Norse, but even those experts had scowled at Bilbo.

The map was impossible to decipher. And as long as that was so, he would never find his way to Erebor.

“I may know someone who could help,” Gandalf murmured.

Bilbo gaped at him. “Why didn’t you ever say?” he snapped, standing up in a fit of fury. “I’ve been trying to read the damned thing for years!” He ripped his bag from Gandalf’s hands and stormed away, huffing angrily just thinking of stupid Gandalf.

“Shall I give him a ring?” Gandalf called after him.

“Yes!” Bilbo shouted back. “And then throw yourself into a river, you thorn in my backside.” Gandalf’s chuckles irked him further. If he wasn’t so fond of the old man, he would have thrown him in himself.

* * *

Thorin had been reduced to introductory Archeology classes.

He had once been a revered and respected archeologist and professor, and now he was teaching at a two-bit tech school where every student took a liberal arts class simply to get enough credits to graduate. He used to enter a lecture hall overflowing with students, all eager to hear him teach.

Now he was lucky if half his class showed up.

He stared down at the students in front him, all tapping their pencils anxiously, and Thorin couldn’t help but grin. It was the final. And dear god above, he was going to make them suffer.

“You’ve got two hours,” he said, holding up the stack of tests above his head. “You’re each going to come up here, grab a test, and I expect every single one of these back in my hand at exactly ten o’clock.”

Thorin threw the stack down onto the table and sat down in a chair, pulling his laptop out of his bag. The students rushed towards him, nearly fighting each other for the test.

He chuckled quietly. There were at least two hundred questions on that test, and only half of it was covered in class.

Now he wasn’t unjustly cruel. If his students actually read the textbook then they’d ace the test. But no one ever read the textbook. Oh, a few would learn their lesson after the midterm, but none had ever studied sufficiently enough to get higher than a barely passing grade.

It was the little things in life, Thorin always believed.

Perhaps one day he was going to be wowed, but today was not going to be that day. Not with this lot of students.

The minutes ticked by, all of which Thorin spent playing Solitaire, staring down every student that felt they had finished their test. He’d smirk up at every one of them, as if to say, “Are you sure about that?” The nervous gulps quite easily told him that they weren’t.

 “Alright,” he finally said, “Time’s up. Tests in.” He watched as his students groaned, shuffling out of their seats and turning in their tests.

He was shuffling them into a neat pile when he spotted someone sitting the back of the classroom, still in their seat. “I said time’s up,” he declared, turning to look the troublemaker in the eye only to met with Gandalf’s mischievous grin.

Thorin scowled, stuffing the pile of tests into his bag. “What do you want?” he asked, feeling Gandalf watching his every move. “Whatever it is, I’m not interested.”

“I just came to visit an old friend,” Gandalf answered. “And perhaps grab a bit to eat at that Korean restaurant down the street.”

Thorin sighed, jerking his head at Gandalf to follow him. There wasn’t a point in putting up a fight.

* * *

Thorin sat in the booth across from Gandalf, arms crossed, drilling a suspicious glare into the older man. Gandalf just smiled, humming under his breath as he played with the straw wrapper. “They’ve got the best bibimbap,” Gandalf commented.

“What do you want?” Thorin asked, knowing that Gandalf would just beat around the subject. Thorin liked to face conflicts head on, none of this dodging the issue that Gandalf excelled at.

“Why must you always be so suspicious?” Gandalf tried, smiling at a passing waiter.

Thorin placed his hands on the table, leaning forward, saying, “The last time you came to speak to me, I became the laughing stock of Ered Luin University.”

“You weren’t wrong, you know,” Gandalf insisted. “Moria does exist.”

“You had me traipsing all over Belgium, making a fool of myself,” Thorin continued. “And all because you had a _hunch_.” The derisive tone was apparent, and Gandalf could do nothing more than accept the verbal assault. “Then in swooped Thranduil!”

“I was unaware he had a map,” Gandalf cut in.

“Finds the damned city in three months – in Austria!” Thorin nodded curtly at the waitress who placed his food before him. Thorin angrily tore apart his chopsticks, the wood breaking in half. “While I’m in Ghent, brushing up on my Dutch.”

A new set of chopsticks was placed beside him and Thorin snatched them up, holding them tightly in his hands. “So pardon me, if I’m not very happy to see you, Gandalf.”

Gandalf sighed, looking forlornly at the professor. He had truly believed Moria was in Belgium. All the signs had pointed to it. And yet somehow, Thranduil had worked it out before Gandalf realized he had made a mistake; sending Thorin on a wild goose chase over 600 miles north of the city’s resting place.

He knew it was going to be difficult to enlist Thorin. But he was the best, and Bilbo deserved the best. He had spent his whole life fantasizing of discovering Erebor, and it was about time he went looking for it.

“It’s Erebor,” Gandalf carefully said. Thorin looked up from where he was practically stabbing his chicken teriyaki, mouth agape. He saw the glint in the professor’s eye. The one that lit up at the thought of adventure, discovery – Thorin had been dreaming of Erebor for ages.

Then just as quickly the fire was doused and Thorin resumed his scowling. “Somewhere near Egypt?” he snarled.

“It’ll be different this time,” Gandalf stated. Thorin looked completely unimpressed. “For one, we have a map.”

Thorin dropped his chopsticks. “That’s impossible,” he breathed. “Erebor doesn’t exist.”

“It very much so exists,” Gandalf chastised him. “A very dear friend of mine needs the map deciphered.”

A frown quickly replaced Thorin’s look of shock. “A friend? You expect me to work with some professor who’s probably never left the comfort of his desk,” Thorin scoffed. “No, thank you.”

“I supposed you’re right,” deflated Gandalf. “It was worth a try.”

Thorin stopped mid-bite. Gandalf never gave up. He was a persistent old man. Thorin suddenly had a feeling we was being played, and he didn’t like it one bit.


	2. Chapter 2

Bilbo puttered around the house, nervously dusting and wiping down tables, every now and then peeking out the window. Gandalf had come over nearly a week ago, telling him that he had managed to convince a dear friend to help with the map. Though the way he said “dear friend” gave Bilbo the impression that only Gandalf thought him a friend.

His flight was scheduled to come in that very afternoon and Bilbo was left in a state of nerves. The only person he’d ever shown the map to was Gandalf, and those few on the board who scoffed every time he went to them.

Now he had to trust a complete stranger with his map. Touching it and poking it and who knew what else. Not to mention Gandalf had insisted the man live in Bilbo’s house!

Gandalf really was the worst. There. Bilbo had said it. Gandalf was the worst man to ever live on the face of the planet.

A loud knock on the door knocked the angry thoughts out of Bilbo’s mind. He looked frantically around his living room, hoping that everything was as clean and neat as possible. The last thing he needed was his guest finding his home less than perfect.

The knock resounded again and Bilbo made his way to the door, shouting, “Yes. Yes, I’m coming. Give me a moment!” Had Gandalf never heard of patience?

He unlocked the front door and swung it open only to find a tall, gruff looking man with hair tied back in a messy bun and a neat beard, no Gandalf in sight. “Er…” Bilbo greeted, blinking nervously.

“Mr. Baggins?” the man asked, deep and throaty, dropping the bag over his shoulder onto Bilbo’s porch.

“Yes,” Bilbo responded, suddenly remembering that he was supposed to speak like a normal human being, not just stare at the deity in his doorway. “Dr. Baggins, actually. Bilbo Baggins. Dr. Bilbo Baggins,” he rambled. He caught the look on the man’s face and cleared his throat. “Sorry, and who might you be?”

“Bilbo!” Gandalf shouted from the drive, still in the driver’s seat of his car, head poking out the window. “I’ll leave Thorin here in your capable hands!” Then just as quickly as he made an appearance, he put the car into gear and drove off, as if he hadn’t just dropped a stranger off at Bilbo’s doorstep.

“Thorin Durin,” the man – Thorin – introduced himself, holding out his hand. Bilbo took it numbly, still wondering whether he ought to shout after Gandalf. Thorin looked down at their hands, post-shake,  and asked, “May I have that back?”

Bilbo blushed to the tips of ears, dropping Thorin’s hand like a hot skillet. “Let me,” Bilbo said, grabbing the man’s duffel and trying to lift it. What in the world did Thorin have in here? An anvil?

Thorin watched in confusion as Dr. Baggins stumbled into his own home, heavy bag nearly dragging across the hardwood floors. “I can take that,” Thorin tried, but Bilbo was lost in the cavern of his home and Thorin could do nothing but dutifully follow.

He looked exactly what Thorin knew he would. A bookish professor with more degrees than actual sense, concerned with the comforts of home, if his house was any suggestion, rather than the high traveling around the world offered.

But Thorin seemed to forget that bookish professors was just his type. It’s mainly why he didn’t enjoy teaching. He always ended up fantasizing over his coworkers. Thorin cleared his throat and Dr. Baggins looked over his shoulder, flaxen hair shining in the afternoon sun streaming through the window. 

“Dr. Baggins,” Thorin began, prying his fingers off of his bag and heaving it over his shoulders.

“Bilbo’s just fine,” the professor said, stuffing empty hands in the pockets of his cardigan. “Are you hungry? I can fix up something. Though you must be tired. You can nap if you’d like.” Bilbo pointed at the door he stood in front of, turning the knob to show off what was most likely Thorin’s room.

“It’s a mite dusty,” Bilbo prattled on, stepping into the room and fluffing a pillow. “I cleaned, of course, but there are always those spots I can’t reach and now I’m just sort of rambling, feel free to shut me up at any time otherwise I could go on for hours, ask my students.” And then he gave a nervous laugh.

“Gandalf said you had a map,” Thorin cut in, throwing his bag onto the bed, watching it bounce.

Bilbo nodded. “My mother found it.”

“It’s real then?” Thorin asked. “Genuine, I mean.”

“Of course it is!” Bilbo bristled. Of all the nerve. How dare this stranger come into his home without so much as a how do you do and go accusing him of lying about his map. “Do you think I go about flapping fake maps willy nilly, as if I don’t have anything better to do with my time?”

“I’ve been fooled more than once, Dr. Baggins,” Thorin growled. “The only reason I’m here is because Gandalf begged – ”

“Begged you! Well I beg your pardon, Mister Durin,” Bilbo shot back. “How could I ever pay you back since you’ve come out of the goodness of your heart.”

Bilbo stormed out of the bedroom, catching the door before it closed, saying, “There’s extra blankets in the closet if you need them.” Feeling he had said his piece, he slammed the door in Thorin’s angry face.

Of all the – Bilbo felt like throwing things! He was very close to kicking over a chair or a table or something akin to both. He felt like going back in there and giving Thorin Durin a piece of his mind.

Bilbo marched back to his study and paced back and forth. And to think Bilbo thought he was some sort of Adonis. More like a goblin, with those manners. Coming into his home, insulting his map. “I ought to box his ears,” Bilbo huffed, staring up at the map he had gotten all worked up about.

He kept it framed and on the wall of his study, so he could remind himself just what he was aiming for. Erebor. Bilbo sunk into a chair, whole body deflating.

That was right. He went and lost his temper at the one man who could possibly help him actually decode the blasted thing. “Now you’ve gone and done it,” Bilbo muttered. He heaved himself back up, and took a long look at the map. “If you want to see Erebor with your own eyes, swallow your pride,” Bilbo told himself.

He snorted. Yeah, right. Much easier said than done.

* * *

Dis had said one thing, and one thing alone when she found out he was going “to go traipsing around the world”, and that was  _don’t lose your temper_ .

He could feel her disapproving glare from miles away. No doubt her “rude Thorin sense” had gone off. Any second now she’d phone him just to scold. Thorin  got only mild glee from knowing his mobile was off.

He was here to do a job, not criticize the authenticity of the map. Though, being a map expert, he should be able to tell right off the bat whether Baggins had a dud or not. Right. He just had to go apologize  - his teeth were grinding at the mere thought – to Baggins, explain why he had gotten upset, and then move on. Ask for the map to check its validity.

From there,  if the map was real, really and truly real, they’d have to assemble a team and go looking. It was never quite that direct, but Thorin was only thinking of the fun bits. Like the bits where he stands atop a mound of gold, proving the entire world that he wasn’t washed up.

There was a soft knock on the door and Thorin knew it could be no one but his host. “Come in,” Thorin said.

Bilbo poked his head in before shuffling inside the room, a frown marring his soft features. He cleared his throat, looking past Thorin as he said, “I came to apologize for my outburst. Of course you’d be concerned about the map.”

He rocked back and forth on his heels and Thorin watched him go up and down, up and down. Thorin put his arm on Bilbo’s shoulder to stop the rocking, but realized that it also looked like a touch of solidarity. Dis would certainly be proud. “I forgive you,” Thorin replied.

“And I’m sorry for yelling,” he added.

“Is that it?” Bilbo asked. Thorin couldn’t think of another reason Baggins would be angry with him. He probably realized that Thorin was not going to be very forthcoming because Bilbo simply snapped, “Yes, fine, I accept your apology.”

He turned on his heel and motioned for Thorin to follow him, which he did without question. The less fights they had, the better.

* * *

Bilbo set Thorin down in the only chair in his study as he pulled the map off of the wall, handing it over. “Can I take it out?”

“Do you still not trust me?” Bilbo bit out, but already pulling out the back and handing over the map to Erebor.

Thorin took hold of it reverently, his vinyl gloves stroking the parchment. It definitely seemed like the real deal. There was the lonely peak everyone envisioned when they thought of Erebor. “I thought we had apologized,” Thorin stated, pulling a small magnifying lens from his pocket.

Bilbo watched over his shoulder, arms crossed. “I apologized,” Bilbo huffed. “You let the entire argument fly over your head.”

Thorin simply shot him a dirty look. The argument did not at all go over his head. “This really is genuine, isn’t it?” Thorin tried instead.

“See what I mean,” Bilbo continued. “Over your head.”

“I don’t think I like you, Dr. Baggins,” Thorin grumbled.

“Well the feeling’s very much mutual, Mr. Durin,” Bilbo revealed. He leaned up against the table, elbows knocking with Thorin’s own. “So can you decipher it?”

Thorin peeled off his gloves, straightening. “No.”

“No!” Bilbo exclaimed. The whole point of this man being in his home was to read the blasted map and if he couldn’t read the blasted map then what was the point of him being here. Bilbo wanted to grab the Thorin by his luscious locks and throw him out the front door. “What’s the point of you then?” Bilbo hollered.

“You don’t have to go lose your temper, Mr. Baggins,” Thorin shouted back, but Bilbo was ignoring him, choosing instead to mutter unhappily under his breath. He was gesticulating wildly, hands knocking into books and furniture.

“I can very well lose my temper if I wish,” Bilbo continued. “When I get my hands on Gandalf I’m going to strangle his scrawny, old neck.”

Thorin sighed, rubbing a hand over tired eyes. Gandalf had said Bilbo was a bit – what was the word he used? – passionate, but he never quite thought he’d be as headache inducing as his nephews. The man ought to wear a sign: BEWARE, MAY BITE HEAD OFF IF LOOKED AT FUNNY.

“Though it is a bit similar to the writing found in Moria,” Thorin said which quite quickly shut up Bilbo. He leaned up against Thorin, eyes glued to his map. “Khuzdul.”

“It is said that Moria and Erebor were trading partners,” Bilbo breathed. He looked up at Thorin. “So can you read it?”

Thorin shook his head. “My Khuzdul is rough, at best. But this looks older, an ancient dialect.” He stepped away, hands on his hips as he thought aloud. “I may know someone who _can_. Though we’ll have to go to him.”

It pained him to say it, but Thorin knew he wouldn’t read the map, just as Gandalf knew he couldn’t. But Thorin had a lot of contacts, and that was just as useful. He could only hope Elrond was willing to work with him again.

If not he’d probably have to reach out to Thranduil. Thorin shuddered at the very thought. He’d rather cut off his foot than be in the same room as Thranduil. No doubt he’d try to steal the map from Dr. Baggins, and the fame to boot.

“Where exactly is this someone?” Bilbo asked.

“I’m feeling like Chinese,” Thorin evaded the question. “Know any good places?”

Bilbo gaped, but nodded. “There’s one just down the street,” he said.

* * *

“China,” Bilbo sputtered, his dumpling slipping from his chopsticks and plopping back onto his plate. “You want to go to China!”

Thorin nodded, slurping his noodles. “Guangzhou,” Thorin said.

Bilbo calmly set his chopsticks aside and pulled the plate of onion beef away from Thorin’s eager chopsticks. Thorin frowned at him, stealing the dropped dumpling from Bilbo’s plate and eating that instead. “Very mature,” Bilbo replied.

“You don’t see me disrupting your eating,” Thorin shot back.

“Explain. Why China?” Bilbo demanded, before realizing the choice of restaurant and huffing, “Did you choose this place just to be clever?”

Thorin sighed, blowing a strand of hair out of his face, which only distracted Bilbo for a nanosecond. “Dr. Peredhil, ” Thorin explained, “is doing a sabbatical in Guangzhou. He’s considered an expert in Khuzdul.” He pulled the onion beef back within reaching distance. “And I was honestly craving Chinese. Stop whining.”

“I am not whining,” Bilbo replied, stuffing his face with chicken teriyaki. “I can’t just go to China at the drop of a hat.”

“Gandalf’s paying,” Thorin said. “I’m sure your plants will survive without you watching them.”

Bilbo had the sudden urge to stab Thorin in the eye with his chopsticks. He was so unbearably rude. “It’s not my plants I’m concerned with,” Bilbo mumbled.

“What? I can’t hear you over your whining,” Thorin commented.

“I said I’m going to shove you off the bloody plane,” Bilbo snapped, stabbing a dumpling rather forcefully.

Thorin simply chuckled, his deep laugh reverberating within Bilbo’s skull. Bilbo really didn’t like him.

* * *

It was nearing one in the morning, but still Bilbo couldn’t sleep. Thorin had been rather insistent, deciding that they should leave for China the following day, and no matter how much he tried to fight, Bilbo lost that argument.

But that didn’t mean he had to be mature about it. Bilbo refused to say a civil word to Thorin all through dinner or the walk back home. He even scurried towards his bedroom without so much as a “good night,” which would have completely sent his father toppling to the floor in a dead faint.

So here he was, lying in bed in a pair of comfortably worn pajamas, staring up at the spinning ceiling fan, waiting for sleep to overtake him. He was going to be flying to China tomorrow.

China!

How was he supposed to sleep at an exciting time like this? It was as he began to doze off that something occurred to him. How had Gandalf managed to wrangle plane tickets so quickly? Had that old man planned the whole thing?

Bilbo jumped out of bed and banged on the door of his guest. If those two had planned the entire adventure without his input, then Thorin was certainly going to get a stern talking to.

“What?” Thorin asked as he opened his bedroom door, bleary eyed and wearing nothing but a pair of tight boxer shorts. Bilbo gulped, mouth going dry. Those tight shirts were not lying. Thorin really was as fit and muscled as he looked.

Actually, that was a lie. He was more so. Why had Bilbo come here again?

Thorin glared down at him, seeming unaware that he was Bilbo’s own wet dream come true. “Can I help you, Dr. Baggins?” Thorin practically growled.

Had he ever considered a career as a phone sex operator? That voice of his – though it’d be a waste, considering how beautiful he was. Bilbo supposed he’d make a marvelous porn star. Oh no! Let’s steer that thought off a cliff, right now.

“It’s late, Dr. Baggins,” Thorin groaned. “Is this so important that it couldn’t wait until morning?”

“I – ” Bilbo began before cutting himself off. He was not in the right mindset to have any conversation with the professor. “The cab’ll be here at six, so make sure to be ready by then.”

“Is that all?” Thorin asked.

Bilbo nodded. “Yes.”

“Good night,” Thorin said, closing the door on Bilbo.

“You’ve got to get yourself together,” Bilbo muttered to himself. “Don’t let his rippling pectorals blind you to his horrible personality.” Right.

But they were so nice.


	3. Chapter 3

Bilbo was never going to ride another plane for as long as he lived. It was official. He’d much rather pull out his hair one follicle at a time then do something as horrible and trite as ride an aeroplane ever again. The moment their plane landed, Bilbo shoved an old woman out the way in his mad dash to setting his feet on land.

“Never again,” Bilbo hissed, ignoring the smirk on Thorin’s face as he followed the man out of the airport.

He was so out of it that Thorin had to manhandle him into a taxi cab which Bilbo did not appreciate in the least. But he was no longer on the plane so Bilbo barely grunted his displeasure, falling asleep within minutes, face pressed against the window.

He was elbowed awake, which only added to Bilbo’s displeasure. Thorin, of course, didn’t care in the least, leaving him in the cab as he paid the taxi driver.

“Where are we?” Bilbo yawned, not fighting as Thorin took his bag and slung it over his shoulder.

“Hotel,” Thorin replied, putting a hand on Bilbo’s back and shuffling him inside the building. “At least try to look like you’re not a tourist.”

“Pardon me for having jet lag,” Bilbo grumbled, swatting Thorin’s hand away. Who did he think he was anyway, touching Bilbo as if they were friends, or lovers, or something. He had to establish a touching rule or something.

He was perfectly capable of walking, thank you very much.

“Come on,” Thorin urged, holding the lift doors open.

Bilbo blinked. When had he gotten there? Bilbo looked at the check in desk, only to find the clerk checking in another guest.

Annoyed by his lack of brain matter, Thorin grabbed Bilbo’s elbow and hauled him into the lift. “For heaven’s sake,” Thorin mumbled. “You’re falling apart.”

“I am perfectly within my wits, thank you very much,” Bilbo sniffed, not even bothering to fight Thorin off of him, allowing himself to be manhandled to their room.

Thorin practically shoved him inside the room, tossing their bags onto the floor. Bilbo would have scolded him, but the bed was calling to him. Oh, and what a nice bed it was.

He practically threw himself onto the plush mattress, cocooning himself in blankets. This was heaven. This was what traveling was all about. Bilbo could die right now and he’d have no complaints.

* * *

Thorin ignored Bilbo’s fussing as their cab pulled up in front of a large, modern house. He had woken him much earlier than he had liked and rushed his breakfast which was apparently cause for WWIII. “Would you please shut up,” Thorin hissed, storming up the steps of the house.

“I will not,” Bilbo huffed, holding up a soggy piece of toast for Thorin’s inspection. “How can I eat this without jam or butter or even an egg! Rushing me out of our room at an ungodly hour.”

“It was nine,” Thorin repeated, banging on the front door. “Stop acting like it was three in the morning.”

“Felt like it.”

“We got in at three,” Thorin reminded him. “Next time I’ll just let you sleep in.”

Bilbo glared at Thorin, chewing angrily at his dry toast. “You do that and I’ll cut your hair in your sleep.”

When Lindir opened the front door, it was to the sight of a defiant Bilbo ignoring the threatening finger Thorin pointed in his face.

* * *

Elrond Peredhil was a tall, lithe man with dark hair and an impressive widow’s peak. He smiled at his guests, offering tea as he sat in the chaise across from them. “Khuzdul,” he repeated carefully.

“Yes,” Bilbo said, sipping at his tea.

“You never said this was your reason for visiting,” Elrond said to Thorin, hands clasped firmly in his lap. Thorin  sat upright in his seat, finding it impossible to find a comfortable position. “You studied Khuzdul.”

Bilbo turned to Thorin in surprise. He had said his Khuzdul was rough, not that he had studied the dead language. His fingers tightened around his teacup and Thorin swallowed uneasily. “If you’ll recall,” Thorin gritted, “I wasn’t very good.”

“I’m surprised you’d admit it,” Elrond replied.

The glare sent his way was one of Thorin’s deadliest. Bilbo grabbed a biscuit and munched quietly, watching the two. Elrond’s calm demeanor certainly fueled Thorin’s anger.

“What is it exactly you want translated?” Elrond asked, looking to Bilbo.

Bilbo wiped the crumbs from his face. “It’s a map,” Bilbo told him, much to the obvious displeasure of Thorin. Any second now he was going to combust.

Elrond’s passive face made way for surprise. The change in emotion was quite relieving to Bilbo who was almost positive the man was a statue or a robot, completely incapable of anything but a pleasant calm.

“You’re Belladonna’s son,” Elrond said, a smile breaking out onto his face. “I thought you looked familiar.”

“So is that a yes?” Thorin cut in before Bilbo could wax lyrical about his mother.

“Of course,” Elrond said. “Anything for an old friend.”

* * *

Bilbo watched as Elrond held his map with careful fingers, awed by the artifact. Thorin frowned beside him, but said nothing. He had already lost the fight with Bilbo to hand over a copy. There was no way Elrond could correctly translate a cheap copy, or scribbles on a piece of paper. He needed to be well informed in order for them to get the best efforts from him.

If the man didn’t trust Elrond, why had he come to him for help in the first place? Bilbo was certain that Thorin trusted no one. He was lucky the professor hadn’t stolen the map away from him while he was sleeping.

Though now that Bilbo thought of it, he was going to keep a closer eye on his map. He didn’t want it stolen from him all because Bilbo couldn’t bother to lock it up.

“Well,” Thorin demanded.

For the love of Job. The man had only been looking at the map for five seconds, hardly enough time to rattle off the words as if the map was simply a well memorized textbook. “I’m a bit puckish,” Bilbo said. “Why don’t you go down to the cafeteria and bring us back some food.”

Thorin looked ready to argue but Bilbo unleashed the Belladonna glare, learned from years of observation. No man, woman, or child could defy that glare. It sank into your soul and ripped into your deepest, darkest fears.

With a huff, Thorin relented, grumbling, “Stupid Baggins,” under his breath as he left the room Elrond had secured at Guangzhou University. He only had to show up, give his name, and the university staff had tripped over their feet in an effort to accommodate them.

Elrond chuckled, putting on the reading glasses that hung off his front pocket. “You handle Oakenshield better than most,” he said.

“Oakenshield?” Bilbo questioned, resisting the urge to peer over Elrond’s shoulder as if he could suddenly glean something.

“It’s what he’s called among his peers and colleagues,” Elrond answered. “He’s as strong and hardy as an oak tree, able to weather all obstacles. But he guards his heart with equal fervor, an oakenshield protects, or so they say.”

“Poetic,” Bilbo replied. Oakenshield, he mouthed. It certainly rolled off the tongue. He found it suited Thorin very well.

Elrond laughed, nodding in agreement. “We are archeologists, historians, anthropologists – romantic fields,” he said. “Poetry comes naturally.”

Bilbo couldn’t fight him on that point. He motioned to the map and asked, “Can you read it?”

“It will take some time, but I am certain I can manage an approximate translation,” Elrond reassured him.

Well that was certainly good news! A few days, maybe a couple of weeks, and he’d be back home in no time at all. He’d finally get rid of Thorin and seek out his destiny. “Splendid,” Bilbo exclaimed, his stomach giving a loud grumble as if to emphasize his point.

 “What’s taking him so long?” Bilbo asked, blushing.

“I’m sure he’s trying to determine what you’d like,” Elrond commented.

Bilbo snorted. That was hysterical. “Probably buying the least appetizing looking thing on the menu, just to rile me up.”

“You’re good for him,” Elrond said. “I’m glad he’s found you.”

“What?” Bilbo blurted. Now hold the phone for a second. What did Elrond think he and Thorin were? They were barely colleagues, hardly friends. Not even agreeable acquaintances. “I don’t think – ”

The door burst open and Thorin stepped in, a bag full of delicious smelling food. “I was going to grab an apple or something, but the last time you said you were peckish you ate enough cake to feed a five year old’s birthday guests,” Thorin said, placing the bag on a chair.

Elrond just smiled knowingly at Bilbo, returning his attention to the map, humming under his breath as if it was all so fascinating. Bilbo couldn’t even bother to be angry at this point. The food smelled unbelievably good.

* * *

It was nearly three weeks and Bilbo was prepared to grab Elrond by the shoulders and shake him until a translation fell out. This was not in the agreement. Elrond had said a few days, a couple of weeks. Three was Bilbo’s limit.

Who did this guy think he was, anyway, taking all the time in the world. If he took any longer, Bilbo was going to waste away and die.

“Stop being so dramatic,” Thorin said, throwing a pillow at Bilbo’s head. It was nearing midnight and Bilbo wouldn’t stop his complaining. He glared at Thorin, holding the pillow hostage. If he thought he was going to get that back then he had another thing coming.

“Is he even a little bit close?” Bilbo asked. “The semester starts in August, you know. I was hoping to find Erebor before then.”

“I’m sleeping,” Thorin groaned, shutting off the side lamp, drowning the room in darkness.

He was very much not sleeping. Just because you lay in bed didn’t mean that you were actually asleep. Bilbo stared up at the dark ceiling, sighing every so often. Thorin’s bed squeaked as he sat up, turning on the lamp.

Bilbo sent him a questioning look. He wasn’t doing anything. “Don’t try acting innocent,” Thorin told him with a frown. “Just say whatever you want to say so I can finally get some sleep.”

“You said he was an expert,” Bilbo started, turning on his own lamp and rolling over to face Thorin. “Experts shouldn’t take fifteen years.”

“Some do,” Thorin yawned. “And I never said he was an expert.”

“You did too.”                    

“It’s like talking to my nephews,” Thorin muttered under his breath.

Bilbo was only vaguely aware how irritating he was being. But he was so close to achieving his dream and all he had to show for it was a pricey hotel room and an bad case of homesickness. “I’ll talk to Elrond in the morning, alright?” Thorin tried.

“Fine,” Bilbo pouted, turning off his lamp and throwing his blankets over his head, squeezing Thorin’s pillow to his chest.

* * *

As much as Thorin was aware that translating a map from a dead language necessitated time, he was in agreement with Bilbo that this was taking much too long. He had things to do, a career to resurrect. He didn’t have time to waste.

He cornered Elrond the next day at his home, refusing to leave without some sort of information. Whether it was him admitting he couldn’t translate it, or the exact location of Erebor.

“You have withheld yourself much longer than I thought possible,” Elrond said, hand grazing over the map.

“Can you give me the location, or can’t you?” Thorin growled.

“It is not so simple,” Elrond stated. He pointed at the peak of the mountain – of Erebor – and turned his stare on Thorin. “You will need a key.”

“A key,” Thorin repeated dumbly. That was… unexpected. He sidled up beside Elrond to look at the map. “Where does it say that?”

Elrond pointed the Khuzdul characters and read, “Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun with the last light of Durin’s Day will shine upon the key-hole.”

Thorin clenched his jaw, the faint memory of a key hanging from the neck of his grandfather. He used to play with it whenever Thror would carry him. The sparkling key, one that his grandfather had said was passed from father to son for generations, its purpose unknown. Could it be?

“Does Bilbo know you’re descended from Erebor?” Elrond asked. “Does he know your purpose for joining his quest.”

“He is merely a means to an end,” Thorin replied, snatching the map away. “Now where is his mountain?”

Elrond sighed. Thorin’s stubbornness would be his downfall, that he was certain. “It is hard to determine the precise location,” Elrond informed him. “But this is appears to be a merchant’s map. It leads us to Erebor on an old trade route, from Moria.”

Of course. It would be Moria. It couldn’t have been Atlantis, or someplace more useful.

“So you have no idea where Erebor actually is,” Thorin stated. Elrond’s guilty look said it all. “So I actually have to go take this route if I want to find this damned mountain?”

“Not necessarily,” Elrond said. “It appears to reside Iceland, though any specifics would necessitate more time. And unless you give it me, you will have to search the country. Though I do believe it is in the south.”

That should have reassured in, but Thorin’s anger was not so easily swayed.  First a key, and now an actual quest, not just a metaphorical one. This day was just getting better and better.

* * *

Bilbo chased after Thorin, coat billowing behind him as he pulled his luggage through the airport, attempting to catch up to his long legged companion.

The man had come rushing into their hotel room, declaring that their plane left in two hours so he’d better get packed. Bilbo had just gaped at him. How one man could be so rude, Bilbo would never know.

“Thorin,” Bilbo tried as he toed on his loafers, hoping on one foot as he grabbed the other shoe from the security bin it was residing in. “What’s going on?”

“Elrond finished the map,” Thorin said, grabbing Bilbo’s carry-on bag and throwing it over his shoulder as he cut through the crowd, Bilbo trailing after him.

“He knows where Erebor is?” Bilbo asked, his excitement blinding him to Thorin’s brusqueness. “Is it in Finland? Belarus? It’s probably Belarus. Thorin? Hold on!”

* * *

“He doesn’t know,” Bilbo repeated as the plane lifted off. He was in such a state of shock that his air sickness forgot to make itself known.

He had spent nearly a month in China and the man couldn’t figure out where in the world Erebor was. What was he doing with his time? Knitting hats? The nerve of that man. And to think Thorin had thought he would be useful. Turns out he was just a fraud, that’s what he was.

Why if Bilbo ever got his hands on that man he’d… he’d probably give him a stern talking to. Oh yes, sir. “Wait, do you have the map?”

Thorin nodded, kicking the satchel he had stuffed under the seat in front of them. “It’s in there.”

“If my map’s harmed in any way,” Bilbo scolded, “you’re going to be missing your hair.”

Thorin reactively touched his ponytail, eyes going wide as he scooted away from Bilbo. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me,” Bilbo replied, sliding the window visor closed. He did not need to be reminded that he was up in the air and not on solid ground. Whoever came up with air travel was a masochist. “So we’re back at square one.”

“Not exactly,” Thorin said. He sighed, running a tired hand down his face. “The map is along an old route, the starting point being Moria.”

Bilbo’s eyes grew wide and he had to resist bouncing up and down in his seat. Moria! That meant he’d get to see the ancient ruins. He’d get to walk the cobbled streets, run his hands across the buildings crumbled by time.

“Elrond has been able to pinpoint Erebor’s general location,” Thorin finished. “Iceland. He gave us a country, nothing more.”

“What did the map say?” Bilbo asked, suddenly remembering the Khuzdul writing.

Thorin waved a belligerent hand at him. “Something about a thrush and a key. Poetic nonsense.”

“Do you know what this means?” Bilbo asked, a smile finding permanence on his face. “I’m finally going to get my grant.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Rejected!” Bilbo shouted at his kitchen cabinets, pounding his fists into the dough he was kneading for a pie. It was supposed to be a celebratory pie, but that was clearly not possible.

He just didn’t understand. He had gone and decoded the map, he had a location; what more did the board want? Bilbo could only probably return with the long lost Eroborian treasure and they still wouldn’t believe him.

Gandalf had explicitly said that if he decoded the map he was a shoe-in for the grant. Figures he’d be a gigantic liar. Might as well have declared Santa Claus was real and he knew where his workshop was. Bilbo was so gullible.

He glared at the manila envelope with the Istari logo emblazoned on the front, a bright red rejected stamp on the cover. He felt like throwing the damned thing out of the window and never think of Erebor ever again. It’d certainly make his life easier.

Perhaps he’d become obsessed with something else. Like the history of doilies. Practical.

He groaned, looking forlornly at his over kneaded dough. It was practically useless now. His mother always said not to bake when you were angry, though she always seemed to break her own advice, so maybe she meant that angry baking was fine as long as you didn’t compromise the pastry.

And he had most certainly compromised the pastry.

He slid the dough into the trash, wiping his floured hands onto his trousers.

Now what?

The ringing of his doorbell seemed to answer that question.

Bilbo couldn’t imagine who was at his door. He wasn’t expecting company. Perhaps it was Gandalf. That riled him up.

If it was Gandalf, the old man had better be prepared to get a piece of Bilbo’s mind. He was going to lecture him until his ears bled.

Bilbo answered the door, finger posed to give emphasis to his curt scolding only to be stopped short by the tall, muscular man with a thick beard and a bald head, strange tattoos inked onto his skin.

“Dwalin,” he said. “At your service.”

“Gesundheit,” Bilbo replied, taking a step back, eyes flicking towards the lone umbrella he kept in its stand by the door. It was the only readily available weapon, and though it seemed unlikely to phase the thug at the door, it would most likely distract him long enough for Bilbo to jump out of the window.

A car door slammed behind the man and Bilbo noticed a shorter man with a long white beard, herding two young men with long, unkempt hair towards his porch.

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo said, “but who exactly are you?”

“Dwalin and Balin Fundinson,” the old man said, his smile easing Bilbo’s uneasy heart, stepping around Dwalin – that was his name, apparently – and offering his hand. “And these two rascals are Fili and Kili Durin.”

“I’m Fili,” the blond one said.

“And I’m Kili,” the brunette added, shoving their way past Bilbo and into his home. Bilbo nodded absently, not following the discussion one iota.

Hold on. Did he say, “Durin?” Bilbo repeated, blinking at the near identical Durin’s.

As in Thorin Durin. As in the man who Bilbo had spent weeks with, the man he secretly salivated over while remaining as professional as possible with because his attitude had much to be desired.

That Durin.

Oh god, he had fantasized about these boys’ father!

“Did Uncle behave?” Kili asked with a wink, elbowing Bilbo roughly in the ribs.

Fili shoved Kili, throwing his hand over his mouth. “Just ignore him. He’s an idiot. I’m sure you and Uncle had a very education and boring trip.” He finished with a pointed glare at his brother.

“Uncle?” Bilbo asked as Balin shut the front door. Apparently he wasn’t capable of anything more intelligible than parroting the strange men who had somehow managed to invite themselves into his home.

“Uncle Thorin,” Kili grinned.

“Really tall,” Fili added.

“Nose like a Dorito.”

“Frown of a bear.”

“Hair so majestic, angels cry.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Fili said.

Right. That… cleared up nothing. Bilbo was just about to say so when the bell rang again.

“Must be the others,” Bilbo heard Balin say, and true to his word, a whole troop of men stood on Bilbo’s porch, each sporting some type of beard and forcing their way into his foyer without so much as a “how do you do.”

The men all greeted each other enthusiastically, smiling and hugging one another as if they hadn’t seen one another in years, happily ignoring their perturbed host. Bilbo didn’t know who they were or what they wanted, but he had a feeling a certain archeology professor and a scheming colleague of his parents were certainly to blame.

“Dr. Boggins,” Kili said, sidling up to the smaller man and warpping an arm around his shoulders. “Have you got anything to eat, I’m dying.”

Food! First they stormed his home and now they wanted to be fed! “I do not,” was Bilbo’s curt reply. “You’ll just have to starve.”

Kili’s astonished face brought nothing but self righteous joy to Bilbo. Perhaps they’d all decide to move their party to some unsuspecting restaurant and leave him in peace. He was not in the mood to entertain.

“I’ll call Uncle and ask him to bring pizza,” Fili shouted over the din of noise, resulting in a rousing cheer.

“No! No, no, no,” Bilbo heard himself shouting, matching straight towards Fili and snatching the phone away, yelling into the receiver, “All of you, get out of my house.”

“That’s very rude,” Thorin rumbled over the line, making Bilbo’s mouth run dry. He forgot the effect the man had on him. Particularly his voice. “I was even going to order that fancy pizza you liked so much.”

Bilbo glared at the mobile, stepping out onto the front porch, slamming the front door behind him for emphasis. He wasn’t sure what point he was making, but felt getting away was as good as it was going to get, seeing as he was the only one not invited to this impromptu gatherin.

“Don’t try to bribe your way into my good graces,” Bilbo said. “Who are all these men currently making themselves comfortable in my sitting room?”

“Our team,” Thorin stated, the _duh_ ringing loud and clear.

Oh dear god. He had told Thorin that finding Erebor was going to be a cinch, hadn’t he? That he was a shoe-in for the grant. That by next month they’d return home triumphant, Erebor proven as more than a myth.

He was an idiot.

“I didn’t get the grant,” Bilbo groaned.

Thorin was silent and Bilbo could only imagine the look of surprise on his face. “What?” Thorin asked.

“I didn’t get the stupid grant,” Bilbo repeated, all of his frustration coming out in full strength. “Saruman took one look at my proposal, sighed, and rejected it. Like he does every blooming year.”

“Are you serious?” Thorin asked.

“No, actually,” Bilbo sassed. “Of course I am. Do you think I go around spouting out lies to everyone I meet?”

“Just stay put, alright,” Thorin ordered, cursing under his breath.

“I’m not going to leave my home when it’s currently occupied with hooligans,” Bilbo grumbled, imagining the way Thorin was no doubt rubbing his forehead in frustration.

“I’ll be there in twenty. Meanwhile, I’m going to murder Gandalf.”

“I’ll help you dispose of the body,” Bilbo offered before Thorin hung up.

He let out a sigh, throwing himself atop the porch banister. He really hoped everyone just sort of spontanesouly disappeared when he decided to go back inside his house. This was not Bilbo’s idea of a good time.

That was exactly how he was found some five minutes later by none other than Gandalf, the old man whistling as he greeted Bilbo with a smile.

“You,” Bilbo hissed, getting his bearings and stalking towards the man with all the fury his five feet and five inches could muster.

“It is me,” Gandalf agreed. “You’re looking quite well, Bilbo.”

“Don’t give me that,” Bilbo retorted. “There are twelve men in my house, probably destroying everything in it, and no grant to explain their existence.”

Gandalf looked contrite, though barely, looking down at Bilbo in concern. “Have you eaten today?”

“I am not hungry!” Bilbo snapped, just as Fili and Kili bounded out the door. Gandalf was not going to blame his poor attitude to an empty stomach.

“But Uncle bought like twenty pizzas,” Kili stated.

“He should be here soon,” Fili explained, checking his mobile for the time, only to remember Bilbo still had it. Bilbo coughed in embarrassment, handing over the phone. “Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

A car pulled up the drive and Thorin opened the window, hollering, “Pizza’s in the back.”

Fili and Kili whooped, rushing down the steps, shoving each other in their eagerness to grab the pizzas. They smiled at Bilbo as they passed him, a loud roar erupting within the house as the men, no doubt, began to devour their meal.

It made Bilbo slightly nauseas. He just hoped they used plates. And napkins. And coasters.

Maybe he should go in there and check…

“Here,” Thorin greeted him, shoving a pizza box in Bilbo’s hands. “That weird veggie thing.”

“Avocado?” Bilbo asked, opening the box and beaming at the sight of perfectly sliced avocadoes on his pizza. “You’re a saint.”

Thorin just grunted, turning his attention to Gandalf who was watching the scene with a satisfied smile. “You said he got the grant,” Thorin accused, arms crossed and eyebrows  furrowed. “You sent me out for a team that you had no intention of using.”

“You are drawing to conclusions,” Gandalf said.

“I’ve spent several weeks with Dr. Baggins,” Thorin continued, ignoring Gandalf completely. “And I can say with confidence that he is no liar. You, on the other hand, lie with a pinash only the truly gifted can achieve.”

Bilbo huffed at that comment. He was as a honest as a priest, thank you very much. He was glad Thorin knew that much about him, if little else. Gandalf, on the other hand, practically worshipped lying. Half the time Bilbo couldn’t tell what was truth or fiction.

“What is this?” An inquisition,” Gandalf bristled, no doubt feigning his (word).

If that man wanted an inquisition, Bilbo would gladly give it to him. “You knew he wasn’t going to get the grant,” Thorin realized, confirming Bilbo’s own suspicions.

He was barely taken seriously at the university, “Mad Baggins” being said behind his back. Bilbo knew, he was no fool. But knowing that Gandalf had zero confidence in him when he had done nothing but encourage him, that truly stung. What true friends he kept. Gandalf was nothing more than a liar, playing games with Bilbo’s sensitive emotions.

“Saruman wasn’t going to give him the go ahead, I knew that. I hoped otherwise, but he thinks Erebor as nothing more than a myth,” Gandalf admitted.

Bilbo dug his fingers into the pizza box, wanting nothing more than to throw the damn thing into Gandalf’s face. Thorin put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and Bilbo felt himself relax just a little bit. It seemed like Thorin was going to take care of this situation which was just fine by him. He actually had the strength to give Gandalf a decent beating.

“I knew if you deciphered the map I could find investors for your expedition,” Gandalf continued, looking at Bilbo. “And I have. They’re currently in your house, Bilbo, my lad. Are you going to let this opportunity slide due to hurt pride?”

Yes, Bilbo wanted to say. He turned his head away, trying to hide his pout. Gandalf could at least told him that, not encouraging the damned grant every year. You think he’d be a better friend than that.

“You’re not having any pizza,” Bilbo declared, heading back into his home, the sound of raucous laughter greeting him as he stepped past the threshold.

* * *

“Iceland,” Balin repeated from where he sat at the dining table, a pipe between his teeth. “That’s all he told you.”

Thorin nodded, looking to Bilbo for help who simply shrugged. What was he supposed to say? He had gotten the information second hand, just like Balin. He couldn’t possibly hope to explain it to him any better.

“The map is technically a route,” Bilbo told him. “From Moria.” He pointed to out the faded lines to the men on the printed reproduction Thorin insisted they make. It was slightly relieving knowing that he was the only one to handle the real thing. He wasn’t too comfortable handing the thing over to these ruffians.

The men grew silent, staring at Bilbo as if he had sprouted three heads. “Moria,” Ori breathed. “They were truly allies.”

“You don’t suppose Thranduil’s found anything on Erebor, do you?” Balin asked, looking to Thorin who grunted, glaring at the table.

“That jerk wouldn’t help us if we came on our hands and knees,” Fili huffed.

“Or promised him the entire Erebor treasure,” Kili added.

“No,” Dwalin said. “He’d come for the treasure.”

Bilbo stared at the men around the table, fortifying himself for the inevitable. “So is it possible?” he asked. “Can we find Erebor?”

Oin and Gloin shared a look, one raising an interested eyebrow. “It will take time,” Gloin replied.

“Months, no doubt,” Oin agreed. “We’d have to commit.”

“That’s no problem,” Bofur chimed in. “I’ve got nothing better to do anyway, right, Bif?” Bifur nodded.

“Are we just going to search every mountain in Iceland?” Kili asked, cringing at the baleful glares cast at him.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ori said, one of the few scholars actually constricted for the cause. “We’ll obviously only search the ones nearest the route on the map.”

Obviously. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So we're halfway there :)  
> I hope you're enjoying the fic thus far. Like I've mentioned, it's part of the hobbit reverse big bang (i'm still waiting for the artist to post, so as soon as she does I will link the art.)  
> I'm going to be going home for Xmas on the 23rd and be back by the 27th, so I can't say for sure that the updates will be daily like they've been thus far. There will definitely not be an update on the 23rd because I have work and then i'm taking a plane. So they'll be spotty and I just wanted you all to know.   
> I'm done now. Enjoy the chapter! :D

Bilbo should have known that Istari Universtiy would have no qualms against giving him the semester off. They’d probably fire him if he wasn’t tenured; or such an expert on dead civilizations.

Maybe he should find a new niche. Or a better, less glorified university. They were all snobs, anyway.

“You’re late,” Thorin growled as Bilbo locked his front door and put his front key in an envelope, writing Hamfast’s name on it in neat script.

“I wasn’t sure what to pack,” Bilbo replied, heaving his backback and suitcase behind him as Thorin merely watched in amusement.

“So you packed everything?” Thorin asked.

“Shut up and give me a hand,” Bilbo scowled. “You shouldn’t have volunteered to pick me up if you were going to complain.”

“I didn’t volunteer,” Thorin reminded him. He really hadn’t. Bilbo had casually mentioned that he’d have to take a cab to the airport and everyone sort of glared at Thorin until he relented.

It was rather odd.

Thorin grumbled as he grabbed Bilbo’s suitcase, opening the rear passenger door and tossing it inside like so much as a bag of trash. Honestly, if he was going to be such a grouch, Bilbo could have just taken a cab. He didn’t mind in the least.

Bilbo heaved a sigh, handing over his suitcase while he was at it. He wasn’t sure if would actually need the amount of sweaters he packed, but it was best to be prepared.

He had truthfully been kept in the dark about this whole venture. Aside from being told to take time off of work, Thorin and his “company” had made all the arrangements while Bilbo was clearing out the guest rooms for their unplanned stay, he was completely ignorant.

For all he knew they were going to throw him off the plane and steal the map for himself. Actually, should he be concerned about that? He took a good long look at Thorin who was placing his luggage in the boot of the car. He didn’t look like a traitorous, two faced liar.

But Bilbo was never a very good judge of character.

* * *

Bilbo stood outside a dinky, run down hotel, thirteen other men surrounding him, and questioned his life choices.

“Where the hell are we?” Bilbo asked. They had spent three hours in an overpacked van and left in the middle of nowhere to suffer. As much as he enjoyed listening to Fili and Kili argue over which teenage mutant turtle was the greatest (and honestly, everyone knew it was Donatello, so their Rafael’s and Leonardo’s can just go suck it), he really just wanted to sleep in a comfy bed without anyone to disrupt his rest.

This clearly wasn’t going to be happening anytime soon.

“There’s a mountain range about twenty minutes away,” Balin said, not answering the question in the least.

It had been like that for the past month.

He was dragged all over the damned country and not told a single thing about what they were doing. He was lucky he was allowed to hold the map.

Bilbo had half a mind to just sneak out in the middle of the night and run off. He’d probably be able to find Erebor before those ruffians.

He was tired. He wasn’t afraid to admit it. Whisked off to stare at mountains, the geologists tapping away at the rock hoping for some sort of sign, Ori and Balin huddled together, discussing the possibilities of a ruined Erebor sitting under years of rubble.

How hard would it be to share? They could just turn to him and ask, “What do you think?”

And he’d give them a stern talking and then admit that he didn’t think the writing on the map was pure nonsense.

_Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun with the last light of the day will shine upon the key-hole._

Bilbo had no idea what that meant, but it wasn’t written on the map because the Ereborians were bored and had nothing better to do. It must mean something. It had to. Maybe the key was a symbol? Or the thrush was a symbol.

Something was a symbol.

Something was _always_ a symbol.

“What? Thorin asked, standing beside Bilbo as he bit his lip and glared at the aforementioned mountain range.

“Maybe the keyhole is just that, a literal key hole,” Bilbo said. Not _everything_ was a symbol. “Maybe we should be looking for a key?”

Thorin’s eyes hardened as he said, “You don’t know anything,” turning away and disappearing as swiftly as he appeared.

That man was as changeable as the weather. Bilbo wanted nothing more than to give him a good wallop in the back of the head. _Excuse me for actually trying to help_ , he thought to himself, snatching his room key from bifur’s hand and storming up to his room.

He locked the door and threw himself on the bed. He was sick and tired of this boring adventure.

Why couldn’t Erebor be in the first mountain they came across? That would be so much more pleasant than this hotel hopping, scouring the countryside for any hint of an abandoned civilization.

Did they think it was going to be that easy?

From the tales that Bilbo could recall, Erebor was inside a mountain; a lone mountain surrounded by nothing but wasteland, an oasis upon itself, self sufficient in every way. A town was rumored to live at its feet, but Bilbo had written that theory off ages ago.

Erebor was more or less a desert, an island. It was its own entity. And searching through mountain ranges next to tiny towns wasn’t going to get them any closer to Erebor.

Bilbo huffed. If no one was going to involve him then he simply wasn’t going to involve anyone else.

He rolled out of bed and rifled through his bag, pulling out the map and lying it out on the duvet. There, in faded ink, was Erebor, the Lonely Mountain. _When the thrush knocks_ …

* * *

Bilbo blinked at the bright sun shining down upon him, casting dark shadows in the grotto in which he stood. A soft breeze ruffled his curls, the smell of wet rock permeated the air, making Bilbo feel as if he had just missed a terrible rainstorm.

Water dripped onto his boots from stalactites above, making everything even more damp and murky.

He heard the soft chirp of a bird and Bilbo turned away from the sun, spying a small bluebird grooming its feathers by the large rock behind him. How Bilbo didn’t notice it, he wasn’t sure.

He reached out his hand, letting his hand run down the damp stone, feeling a soft pulse. He drew his hand back as if stung, only to spy the bluebird hopping towards him.

The bird stopped at the stone, picking up a small walnut and tapping it against the rock, a constant ra-ta-ta-ta. The bluebird paused to look up at Bilbo, tilting his head as if in invitation.

Bilbo took a step forward, palm facint the stone and lightly placing his hand on the damp rock. And as if awakened, the stone rumbled, the high sun now a dusty pink, shining down its light into a small, hidden groove in the stone; a keyhole.

The thrush, for Bilbo could see now it was not just any bluebird, chirped, taking its nut into its mouth once more and continued his knocking.

* * *

Bilbo woke silently, pulled from his dream by a soft knocking at his window.

It was a dream, he realized. That strange grotto was not real. Simply a dream.

Yet the knocking persisted.

Bilbo crept out of bed, realizing that he had left his balcony door open, a draft rattling the blinds. He closed the door, eyes staring blearily at the empty room, the late afternoon light making the cheap hotel room seem ethereal.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t rattled by that dream.

And then remembered.

There was an old mountain, barely a hill, with an underground grotto in the shape of a bird. No – not a bird – a thrush.

And when the wind blew it would teeter a giant boulder, causing it to knock gently against a large stone. That’s where Erebor was. There wasn’t a doubt in Bilbo’s mind.

Bilbo quickly rushed out of his room, only to stare blindly at the closed hotel doors. He had no idea where the other were saying. For all he knew he could be the only one on this floor.

Maybe he shouldn’t have run off without listening.

He decided to check the lounge near the concierge’s desk, seeing as the company was fond of gathering in public places and being general nuisances. The likelihood of him running into someone he knew was very high.

He was, unfortunately, incorrect.

The lounge was strangely empty, leaving Bilbo to stand there with his hands on his waist, trying to deduce their whereabouts. Maybe he could ask the concierge what rooms everyone was in….

A flash of golden hair caught his attention, and Bilbo instantly knew it was Fili. Who else could it be?

With a grin he chased after the other man, pausing just outside the door to the conference room as he heard Thorin’s deep gravelly voice: “Not a word of this to Dr. Baggins.”

“I don’t see why we can’t just tell him,” Kili muttered under his breath.

“But Bilbo’s here to help,” Fili insisted.

“He is simply the keeper of the map,” was Thorin’s reply. “do not forget to whom you owe your loyalties.”

Bilbo felt his ire bubble up and over. That damn Thorin Durin. Just who the hell did he think he was? Well let’s see how far he got without the precious map. Bilbo could just find it all on his own.

Plus he knew exactly where Erebor was. So Thorin and his company could go bugger themselves for all he cared.

* * *

Thorin had been bothered by Bilbo’s keyhole comment. It just reminded him that he didn’t actually have the key. That damned key was buried six feet underground, protected by soil and wood, clasped tightly in the hands of the only man who would have kept it safe were he alive.

And he couldn’t just dig it up. He’d end up no better than Thrain, or even his grandfather, Thror.

Thorin had insisted on the key being buried. It had nearly driven Thrain insane.

Not nearly. It had.

Erebor was his family’s obsession, and though he told himself his eagerness was merely scholarly interest, in the deep dark recesses of his mind, Thorin knew that wasn’t true.

Gold, piles and piles of god; rubies, diamonds, emeralds: wealth beyond comprehension just sitting in that mountain without a single soul to enjoy it. The prestige itself would make THorin one of the most sought after archeologists.

The gold, well the gold would make him the richest man on the planet. Perhaps even exceed billionaire status.

He wanted to find the treasure room and dive into it, let himself be swallowed up by the gold, let it drown him. And that was frightening.

But still, he needed to witness it for himself. After all the gold was lost and forgotten, Thorin could not forget that there was once a civilization there too. People who chose to live underground and thrive.

He grew up on the tales of Erebor, of their gods and way of life. It was a family pride knowing they were descended from Erebor, even quite possibly the last King himself.

There was no proof, only stories and a key passed down from generations. One that Thorin was almost half convinced to dig up.

Only half.

Dwalin silently entered the conference room they had booked for the afternoon, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Thorin raised a questioning brow and Dwalin coughed, placing his hands on the table to steady himself. “Someone tampered with you old man’s tomb,” he said.

“What!”

The door burst open and Kili rushed in, Balin at his heels. “Is it true?” he asked. Balin shushed him, grabbing his elbow and shoving him into a chair.

“Explain,” Thorin ordered, staring down the Fundin brothers.

“We went down to the old cemetery, like you asked,” Dwalin said. “Found the family mausoleum. Thrain’s tomb was bashed in, stone everyone. It was the only one touched.”

“Shit,” Thorin cursed. Did someone else know about the key?

“They rifled through the thing but found nothing,” Balin added.

“So the key’s still safe,” Thorin muttered, breathing a sigh of relief.

He had known that this day would come. That someone would try to steal the Durin’s greatest treasure, which is why they had buried the key with Vallis, Dis’s deceased husband, the man who had lost his life trying to save Thrain’s.

He had a plain grave on the other side of the cemetery. No one knew about it except for close friends and family, everyone else believed he too was buried with the rest of the Durins. Could he, in good faith, dig up his brother in law?

“I think it’s alright,” Kili stated. “Fee and I were talking about it earlier. And if you think we need to dig up our Da, then you have our permission.”

Thorin could only blink. How could they be alright with this?

“It’s for Erebor,” Fili cut in, sliding into the room, the door left open just a crack. “We know Da would have wanted it this way. He was just as obsessed as the rest of us.”

“Well,” Balin said, clicking his tongue, “I suppose we should go tonight before we explore those hills.”

“We have to tell Dr. Baggins,” Kili decided, rising from his chair, only to be kept in place by the meaty hand of Dwalin on his shoulder.

“Not a word of this to Dr. Baggins,” Thorin said.

Kili tried to wiggle himself free, muttering under his breath, “I don’t see why we can’t just tell him.”

“But Bilbo’s here to help,” Fili reminded his uncle, taking on his brother’s mantle.

“He is simply the keeper of the map,” Thorin replied. “Do not forget to whom your loyalties lie.”

Fili huffed, rolling his eyes as he said, “Don’t be so dramatic. You’re just upset cause everyone knows you fancy him.”

The look of utter disbelief on Thorin’s face was priceless. If they thought for one second that he had a… _thing_ for that stuffy professor, well then they were all crazy.

“He _is_ just your type,” Dwalin put in, deciding that now was as good a time as any to bring up the burgeoning romance between the fussy professor and his best friend.

“I do not have a type,” Thorin vehemently denied.

“You bought him a pizza,” Kili stated as if that was evidence enough.

“I bought everyone pizza!”

“Yeah,” Fili agreed, “But it was just for him, with his favorite toppings. And you glared at anyone who tried so much as to look at the damned thing.”

These accusations were pointless. “I was being polite,” Thorin hissed.

“You did drive him to the airport,” Balin said.

“You all practically forced me!” Thorin exclaimed. “I’m not going to stand here and listen to your ridiculous theories.”

The door slammed open and Bofur rushed in, hair in disarray.

Everyone looked up at him as he swallowed nervously, wringing his hat in his hands. “I think Bilbo ran away.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've given you all a Xmas treat. :3 You'll know it when you read it.   
> Happy Xmas and Happy Holidays!

“I went to go check on him,” Bofur explained as the company gathered around him. “And I knock on his door but this weird guy answered. Which I thought was strange, so maybe I got the room number wrong. Only I asked at the desk, and the lady said Bilbo had checked out.”

“Where would he go?” Ori asked, trying to remain if only a little hopeful. “He doesn’t know anyone around here. Does he?”

“He took the map,” Dwalin pointed out. “Where do you think he’s going?”

“He wouldn’t!” Fili and Kili gasped in unison. Not their Dr. Baggins. He was so cuddly and innocent.

Thorin scratched at his chin, eyes narrowing as he thought of this betrayal. If he were Dr. Baggins, where would he go?

“Bifur,” Thorin said. “Speak to the concierge. Find out what cab company he used.” He nodded his head. They would find him. At any cost.

* * *

Bilbo probably shouldn’t have run off on his own. He was highly regretting his decision as he stood at the bus depot, a bus ticket in his hand. Certainly the rest of the company was worried about him. Besides, he still had the map.

He had abandoned them!

Yes, Thorin was a complete and total arsehole, but that didn’t mean he had to go and leave everyone else in the lurch. They all probably hated him now.

Who even was he anymore?

“Mr. Boggins!” Kili exclaimed, shoving past a poor old woman, leaving her dazed at being manhandled.

Fili clambered after him, apologizing to the woman as he corrected, “Baggins. And he’s a professor.”

“You don’t stop being a mister because you’re a professor,” Kili replied, as if it was his brother that was the idiot. Fili felt it best not to argue.

They had followed him! Any second now, Thorin was going to appear, scowling and treating him like a bug under his boot.

Or maybe he’d give that soft smile, glad to see Bilbo safe and sound.

He really needed to stop daydreaming and deal with reality. “What are you doing here?” Bilbo hissed.

“We were going to ask you the same thing,” Fili replied, arms crossed, frowning.

“You abandoned us!” Kili accused.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Bilbo huffed. “I just remembered that I had an old friend who lived around here so I thought I’d pay a visit.” The lie was so obvious, Bilbo couldn’t help but cringe.

“Dr. Baggins,” Fili said with a pitying look, handing over his bus ticket to the bus driver. “Let us help you.”

And before he knew it, he was carried by his elbows and onto the bus, Fili and Kili sandwiching him in his seat. There was no escaping them now.

* * *

**Bilbo retrieved. Watching like hawk. Meet you in Akureyri.**

**– Fili**

Thorin sent out a quick reply, pocketing his mobile as he stepped over old, decrepit graves, stopping at the one Bifur and Dwalin were unearthing.

“They found him,” Thorin said, both men breathing out a sigh of relief at the news.

“What do you suppose made him run?” Dwalin grunted, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, dirt staining his skin.

Bifur stopped digging, looking directly at Thorin, making him shift uncomfortably. 

“I didn’t do anything!” Thorin exclaimed. “Why does everyone think I’m the cause of this?”

“Because you always are,” Dwalin responded as Bifur nodded sagely beside him.

Traitors. The lot of them.

Bilbo was clearly unstable and needed to be watched over. It wasn’t _his_ fault if Bilbo suddenly had impulses to abandon the company. Thorin was completely innocent.

He probably just got sick and tired of them, and really, Thorin couldn’t blame him. He was getting pretty sick and tired of those guys as well. In that way that you got sick and tired of family members when you spent too much time with them. Not that he was complaining.

But why would that send Bilbo running?

It’s not like they bothered him like they bothered Thorin. They had welcomed Bilbo with open arms. Hell, they even gave Bilbo his spot at the dinner table. The guy was practically one of them. Being loved was hardly a reason to run away.

Unless he had heard Thorin talking about him.

That would be bad.

Very bad.

But that was impossible. Right?

“I think we’ve hit land, captain,” Dwalin said, his shovel letting out a low _thud!_ as it hit the coffin, he and Bifur jumping out of the freshly dug grave to give Thorin room.

This was the moment.

Thorin felt horrible digging up poor Vallis, but Fili and Kili were right. He had been just as intrigued by Erebor as the rest of the Durin brood. He would gladly give his approval to be dug up, as morbid as it sounded.

Dis would probably kill him if – scratch that, _when_ – she found out, so really, his cosmic punishment was inevitable. No need to worry about it when Dis was going to emotional abuse him anyway.

Thorin jumped into the grave and lifted open the coffin, covering his mouth with a handkerchief as a horrible stench filled the air. All the men scrunched up their faces in disgust, Balin going so far as to vomiting into a bush.

Vallis looked… disgusting. Half of the man was decomposed, bits of bone visible to the naked eye, while the rest was putrid flesh. Maybe they should have waited a few more years. At least then Vallis wouldn’t look like something out of a zombie movie.

Steeling his stomach, Thorin pulled the key from Vallis’ oozing hand, scrambling out of the grave as quick as can be. He wiped down the key and held it up in the moonlight.

“Who’s there?” someone shouted and the men froze, ducking onto the ground.

The beam of a flashlight waved over them, footsteps crunching nearer. Thorin shot Balin a pleading look.

Huffing, Balin grabbed a rock and threw it some feet away from their grave site.

The flashlight followed the sound and the cemetery guard wandered off after it, all four men breathing out sighs of relief.

By morning, the only sign that anyone had been there was the strangely turned dirt on an unmarked grave.

* * *

“I’m so tired,” Kili bemoaned, stretching his back until it let out an unsavory crack, Fili rolling his eyes behind him.

Leading their merry pack was Bilbo, deep set bags under his eyes and a nervous tick developing in his eye.

Never. Again.

It was pretty obvious the boys were keeping watch over him like a misbehaving child. Thorin had wanted him tailed and he put his best boys on the job.

They wouldn’t even let him visit the toilet without one of the tagging along, as if Bilbo was going to smuggle himself out the window and run off. It was degrading.

Not to mention they didn’t seem to understand boundaries. They gave him no time or space to think, constantly asking questions and telling stories and jokes and Bilbo loved them, honest he did, they were very nice young men, but their boundless enthusiasm was going to be his death.

“We should eat,” Fili declared, looking up at the sign above a small café and dragging Bilbo and his brother inside, only to be met with the company.

Of course. Because this was his life. Nothing was a coincidence anymore. Where did Bilbo make his exit from this ridiculous drama that was, apparently, his life?

“Dr. Baggins!” they all shouted, a few Bilbo’s thrown in for good measure as ten large men rushed towards him, taking him into the most bone crushing bear hug he’d ever experienced.

“We thought you abandoned us!” Ori sniffed, eyes watering and lip quivering as he held onto Bilbo’s sleeve.

Oh my. “No, I wouldn’t,” Bilbo stated. “I – uh…”

“Dr. Baggins,” Thorin interrupted, the entire company turning to look at him as he quietly sipped his coffee, behind still firmly planted in his seat, refusing to acknowledge the accursed traitor anymore than necessary. “Was only doing my bidding.”

Bilbo gulped.

“Isn’t that right, Dr. Baggins?” Thorin asked, his cold blue eyes meeting Bilbo’s.

“Yup,” he agreed, chuckling nervously.

“What was it then?” Oin asked, huffing angrily to not be in the loop.

Right. It was. Er… the thing was… maybe Thorin could pitch in here. Seeing as he’s the idiot that came up with the idea.

“He had a hunch,” Thorin replied. “Isn’t that right?”

Bilbo nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yeah. A hunch. A great hunch. I’m feeling a little faint.”

Bofur led Bilbo to a seat and began fanning him with a used napkin.

If his parents were alive, they’d skin him, Bilbo just knew it. He risked looking at Thorin only to be met with an icy stare. They were going to have serious words later, Bilbo could feel it in his bones.

* * *

“Come here, burglar,” Thorin ordered as Bilbo approached his hotel door, standing in the doorway of his own room.

They had all been given rooms to share, most likely to keep an eye on Bilbo, and he just wanted to go to sleep. The boys had barely let him get a wink. He didn’t want to get yelled at by Thorin.

“Burglar? What exactly, have I burgled?” Bilbo grumbled as he stepped into Thorin’s room, the door softly clicking behind him.

The two stared at each other, Bilbo in a poor mood and not really caring what Thorin had to say to him. “Alright, get started,” Bilbo said. “I haven’t got all day and I’m tired.”

“You ran off,” Thorin stated. “Not even a note. You are a part of this company – ”

“Company!” Bilbo exclaimed. “I’m not part of your company, Thorin Durin. I am my own entity, thank you very much. In fact, without me, there wouldn’t be a company, so I’d like it if you handed over their titles and all that to me.”

Thorin let out a sharp laugh, pointing a finger at Bilbo. “You are a pain in my side, do you know that?”

“Likewise! Accusing me of burglarly!”

“You stole our map,” Thorin replied.

“My map,” Bilbo reminded him. “Besides, you weren’t getting anywhere. Meanwhile I know exactly where Erebor is, so how do you like that?”

“You what?”

“That’s right. So who’s the better archeologist now?” Bilbo shot back, holding his chin up high. No gruff professor was going to one up him, oh no. Bilbo was going to have the last word, thank you very much. Perhaps he shouldn’t have shown all his cards at once, but honestly, Bilbo was tired of being treated like a second rate charlatan.

He was a tenured professor at Istari University. He had a doctorate, for pete’s sake. And he was not going to be bullied by this sham artist.

Thorin clenched his jaw, taking a threatening step forwards, Bilbo taking a nervous step back. Maybe he shouldn’t have antagonized him. “You think you’re better than me?”

“I know I am,” Bilbo replied.

“Alright then, Dr. Baggins,” Thorin growled. “Tell me. Tell me exactly how you discovered the long lost Erebor’s location. Wow me.”

Bilbo cleared his throat, mumbling, “I had a dream.”

“I’m sorry. Could you repeat yourself? I couldn’t hear you.”

“I had a dream,” he repeated just a tiny bit louder, but still inaudible.

“I’m sorry?”

“I had a dream!” Bilbo shouted.

Thorin’s look of utter mocking surprise made Bilbo want to grab the nearest sharp object and stab him with it repeatedly. “A dream! Well, you’re right,” was Thorin’s sarcastic reply. “You’re definitely a better archeologist than me. I should just pack up and go home.”

“No need to get snippy,” Bilbo huffed.

“When you have cold hard facts,” Thorin scowled, cornering Bilbo against the wall, hands pressed up against either side of his head, “then you can come to me with your superiority, Dr. Baggins. Until then you are nothing more than a map keeper.”

“You pompous, stubborn, thick headed, idiot,” Bilbo spat, just before Thorin ducked down and met his lips in a piercing kiss.

That was completely unexpected.

“I hate you so much,” Thorin breathed as Bilbo’s hands entwined themselves in his hair. “You’re infuriating.”

Thorin’s hands found themselves just under Bilbo’s bottom and before he could bat them away, Thorin had lifted him into the air, his back pressed up against the wall, giving Bilbo perfect leverage to open his mouth and kindly invite Thorin’s tongue inside.

“And you’re impossible,” Bilbo managed as Thorin began to nip at his ears, making Bilbo shiver.

Oh god, what was happening right now?

Bilbo tugged at Thorin’s hair, guiding their mouths back together, Thorin taking careful steps backwards towards his double bed.

A loud banging on the door interrupted their amorous kissing, Bilbo plopping onto the bed in an utmost dignified manner as they stared at the closed door, caught in the act.

“Uncle!” Kili shouted. “Uncle, I can’t find Bilbo.”

“He said he was going to his room,” Fili piped in. “But he’s not opening the door. You don’t think he ran off again, do you?”

“If you did something to make him leave, I’m going to tell mother,” Kili threatened.

Bilbo covered his face with his hands, feeling it go hot. Those idiots. He was going to give them a good thrashing when he saw them.

Thorin sat up and away from Bilbo, pulling at the collar of his shirt, clearly flustered by his lack of control. “He’s probably on the toilet or something,” he replied, avoiding eye contact with the man who was most definitely not on the toilet. He could have said having a shower. That was less embarrassing.

“Oh,” Kili said. There were hushed whispers between the brothers before Kili said, “We’ll check again in a bit then. Thanks.”

Bilbo cleared his throat, rolling off the bed in an undignified heap. “I’m going to go,” Bilbo said. “I’ll show you how true my dream was. I’ve got proof. Don’t think I don’t.”

He shoved past Thorin and opened the door, glad to see the boys had left.

It wasn’t until he was about to close his own room door that Thorin called, “Wait.”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow at him, taking in the other man. He looked absolutely wrecked. Well now that he had that out of his system maybe they could actually work together.

Thorin looked like he wanted to say something, but he just couldn’t get the words out. Instead he sighed, running a hand through his (very, very) messy hair. “If you have proof…”

“I do,” Bilbo said, shutting his door and throwing himself onto his bed.

It was out of his system. He was out of his system. Everything would turn out fine.

God, he was such a bad liar.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY FOR THE LATE UPDATE. I went home for a couple of days and then getting back to real life kind of sucks.

The next morning, Bilbo came down to breakfast as pleasant as could be, but it was apparent to all he was giving Thorin the cold shoulder.

“Balin,” Bilbo said, once his toast was finished and the jam cleaned from his plate. “I’ve got something to show you that I think will interest you greatly.”

Everyone at the table turned to Balin who quietly acquiesced, Thorin growing redder and redder at the table. “What is this in reference to?” Thorin asked.

“You wouldn’t be interested,” Bilbo stated. “It has to do with the keeping of maps.”

Kili simply gaped after him, Fili dropping his eggs back onto his plate, completely taken aback by Bilbo’s cold reply. He was being… well a bit like Uncle, honestly, though much sassier. So more like their mother. Neither young man knew he had it in him.

Thorin could do nothing but glare after them, fingers slowly squeezing his toast to crumbs.

“I think he heard you, Uncle,” Fili said, Kili nodding in agreement beside him.

That annoying, pain in the backside, Dr. Baggins. What did he even see in him, Thorin didn’t even know.

“Shut it,” Thorin replied.

* * *

Bilbo laid out the map of Erebor beside the one of Akureyri and its mountains, comparing the two.

“On this one,” Bilbo said, pointing to the ancient map, “It’s written… well there’s a thing about a thrush, and I didn’t quite understand. But I remembered an alcove not far from here.”

He directed Balin’s attention to the other map, one detailing every mountain range in the area. “There’s a grotto, in the shape of a bird -  a thrush! That’s where we’ll find Erebor!”

Balin nodded, putting on his glasses to get a closer look. He could make out the shape of the thrush and his heart fluttered with excitement. This could very well be it. The lead they were looking for.

“We have to tell Thorin,” he exclaimed, gathering the maps, only to get stopped by a hand on his wrist.

He looked up at the solemn face of Dr. Baggins and frowned.

“I tried telling him,” Bilbo said. “I’d prefer if _you_ handled this.”

Balin took off his glasses. “But… Thorin’s our leader,” he managed to reply. He couldn’t, in good faith, go behind Thorin’s back. He had sworn his allegiance to the man.

Bilbo sighed, fingers tapping lightly against his lips. “If you must,” Bilbo relented, “then go ahead. I leave the matter in your hands.”

Balin nodded, but left, feeling hollowness in his heart.

He _had_ to tell Thorin. There was no getting around it. Bilbo should know that more than anyone.

Something had to have happened. And Balin was going to get to the bottom of it. Hopefully it was something easily mended, such as Thorin being an incorrigible idiot, per usual.

He found Thorin where he had left him not an hour earlier, brooding in the dining area, stabbing at his cold and runny eggs.

“What did Dr. Baggins want?” Thorin asked petulantly, like a child not allowed to join the other kids on the playground.

Balin jerked his head in a ‘follow me’ motion and Thorin complied, keeping silent until they  had reacht he shared room of Balin and Dwalin, the latter lounging on his bed, nose glued to his mobile.

“What’s going on?” Dwalin asked, sensing a confrontation.

Balin ignored him, keeping his eyes on Thorin as he said, “Bilbo’s rather positive he’s found ERebor.”

Thorin scoffed, rolling his eyes as he placed his hands on his hips. “He tell you about his dream?”

“He showed me a map,” Balin continued, Dwalin sitting up and gaping at his brother like a fish. “A map with our knocking thrush, if that interests you at all.”

The guilty gulp of Thorin was nearly audble.

“Why did you dismiss him?” Balin asked. “He didn’t want me to share this with you.”

“The traitor,” Dwalin growled.

Thorin shook his head at him. “He came to me with dreams and fantasies, not facts or proof.”

“You can’t just treat him like rabble,” Balin scolded. “You don’t have that right. He holds all the cards while you sit there bluffing.”

“You think I don’t know?” Thorin admitted. “His life is so simple. So perfect.”

“Mind your pride,” Balin scolded.

“My pride is all I have left,” Thorin shouted.

“Just apologize,” Dwalin butted in. “And then shag him.”

Thorin didn’t deign that with a response. He had in fact tried that. The shagging, not the apologizing. And that didn’t work out that well. Not that he was going to tell Dwalin that. Oh no.

It didn’t change the fact that Bilbo was still an outsider. He would never be a member of the company, at least in Thorin’s eye.

“We want his cooperation,” Balin reminded him.

“Fine,” Thorin relented, glaring at Dwalin and his cheeky grin.

He marched to the room Bilbo was sharing with Ori and just stood there, gathering himself.

God, he was an idiot. What sort of man goes around insulting someone and then snogging them senseless? Thorin, apparently.

It was no wonder Bilbo hated him.

How did one go apologizing for something like that?

“Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to knock?” Bilbo asked, standing impatiently behind him.

Thorin jumped a foot in the air, crashing his back into the door as he spun around, clutching his chest.  “Dr. Baggins,” Thorin managed to say, hiding his hand behind his back, trying to forget that he nearly had a heart attack right then and there.

“If you’re looking to apologize for your rude behavior,” Bilbo said. “Don’t bother.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but that’s not why I’m here,” Thorin said, mentally cursing himself but unable to stop himself from digging himself into a deeper ditch.

“Then that means you’re going to demand my cooperation,” Bilbo huffed, shoving past him and opening his room door. “Not. Interested.”

This… was not how things were supposed to go. “Wait,” Thorin shouted, kicking his foot out and stopping the door from slamming with his boot.

Bilbo gave him an annoyed look, hand tightening on the door handle. “Move.”

“Here,” Thorin said instead, pulling off the key dangling round his neck and offering it to Bilbo. He wasn’t sure what had inspired him to action, but now that he had revealed a key secret (pun wholly not intended, and Thorin really wished he could turn off his brain) of his quest, it was like a weight had been lifted from shoulders (once again, pun not intended; maybe later Thorin would whack his head against the wall a couple of times to get those dumb thoughts out of his mind).

Bilbo could only gape. “It’s a literal key,” he stuttered out.

Well apparently neither of them were working on their highest brain power, and that warmed Thorin slightly.

“If you are to lead us on this venture, then it is you who deserves to keep this,” Thorin explained, grabbing Bilbo’s hand and resting the key in his slightly damp palm.

Bilbo shoved his hand right back, stumbling backwards and shaking his head viciously. “I can’t take that!” he exclaimed.

“Take it,” Thorin rumbled. He was being nice.

For once in his life.

And Bilbo was going to take the god damned key if it killed him.

“No,” Bilbo protested, trying to close the door and shove Thorin out of his way at the same time, kicking helplessly at the man’s boot.

What did he want from him? Didn’t he say not even an hour ago that he was going to lead this expedition. That meant he was in charge and the guy in charge holds the key. Thorin was gonna shove it around his neck and just walk away.

“I can’t take that,” Bilbo whispered as he stopped his attacks on Thorin’s sore foot.

“I’m offering it,” Thorin said. “As a sign of good will. And trust.”

Bilbo looked up at him warily. He crinkled his nose and tilted his head before nodding, holding out his hand and accepting the key. “I’m still not forgiving you.”

“We head out tomorrow?”

With a sigh Bilbo agreed. “But you’re letting me lead.”

“Of course.”

* * *

Bilbo huffed and puffed as he was slowly weighed down by the pack Dwalin had literally thrust onto his shoulders that morning. Everyone else was sporting a similar pack, but Bilbo was unaccustomed to climbing mountains and hauling over fifty pounds of gear on his back.

He groaned as they reached the top of a hill, not the first, nor the last, and not even the highest. He rested his pack against a large boulder, his weak legs quaking now that most of the weight was off of them. He blindly grabbed his water bottle and gulped down as much water as he could, glaring at the rest of the company who looked fit as fiddles.

Curse them all.

“Are you alright, Dr. Boggins?” Kili asked, coming into Bilbo’s line of vision, messy hair curtaining the two of them from everyone else.

“I’m going to die,” Bilbo wheezed.

“We can take some of your stuff,” Fili offered, hoisting Bilbo’s pack off of his back and pulling out packs of food.

Bilbo really couldn’t let them do that. He had to pull his weight as much as the next guy, but god, he was so tired. If he had known that they were going to backpack through the hills instead of drive towards the grotto like he suggested, then he wouldn’t be in this mess. He would have handed over the key and map, gave out his apologies, but he really wasn’t physically capable of hiking through miles of terrain.

He should have told them he had asthma or something.

“Everything alright?” Bofur asked, sitting down beside Bilbo and handing over his own canteen. Bilbo declined the offer, though he knew his water bottle was nearing empty.

“Take this,” Kili said, opening the top of Bofur’s pack and stuffing in Bilbo’s tent.

Bilbo gulped, trying weakly to protest, but soon everyone was crowding him, gently prodding him to allow them to take things from his pack, reassuring him that it was no problem at all. By the time they were finished, Bilbo’s pack was considerably lighter, but still a heavy burden on his back.

The company smiled at him, slapping him on the back, telling him to perk up. But there, just on the edge of his vision, Bilbo could see Dwalin and Thorin frowning at him.

“Lead the way,” Gloin huffed, scratching at his fiery beard.

Right. No matter what, he was the leader on this expedition. He was going to find Erebor.

* * *

That night, once the tents were set up and the fire cracking happily, Thorin sat down beside Bilbo, biting into his granola bar as he said, “We’re being followed.”

“What!” he exclaimed, cringing in apology at the glare Thorin sent him. This clearly wasn’t news for everyone to hear. “Why would someone be following us?” Bilbo whispered.

Thorin cleared his throat, looking into the fire and looking, for all the world, like a guilty child. “That key,” Thorin revealed, pointing at Bilbo’s chest, causing the professor to clutch at key hanging around his neck, “was not given to me by… the most…” he trailed off.

“By the most honest means,” Thorin finally concluded, shaking his head as Bilbo’s eyes widened.

“Did you steal it?” Bilbo whispered, seeing Thorin in a new light.

“No!” Thorin told him, lowering his voice as everyone turned to look at him. “It’s been in my family for generations,” he explained.

“I don’t understand,” Bilbo said.

Fili threw himself over Thorin’s shoulder, Kili doing the same to Bilbo, surprising them both. “We dug it out of our Dad’s grave,” Kili answered, gulping at the glare Thorin gave him.

Dad’s… grave.

“Oh my goodness,” Bilbo said before all the blood left his brain and fell over in a dead faint.

“I think that went rather well,” Bofur said, smiling at the Durins who stared down at the unconscious professor at their feet.

“Lift his legs,” Oin ordered, shuffling towards the group. “And you all said you wouldn’t need a doctor.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo it's my day off and i just kind of want to laze about so this chapter is coming at you in the evening instead of the morning. yup. XD enjoy the chapter!

Bilbo came to to the hushed whispers of the company, blinking up at them in confusion as Oin’s face hovered mere inches away from his own.

He let out a squeak and sat up quickly, head complaining at the sudden rush. His arms and legs were shaking and Dori patted his arm reassuringly, Bilbo realizing that the cushion he had woken up on was Dori’s lap.

How embarrassing.

“There ya are, right as rain,” Oin declared, stepping back and washing his hands of the situation. No need for him now that the emergency had passed.

“Dr. Baggins,” Thorin enunciated, kneeling beside Bilbo, a warm hand on his knee. “How are you feeling?”

Feeling? Bilbo put a hand to his head, the world finally coming into focus and his headache nothing more than a dull ache. He tried to remember why  he had fainted, something he hadn’t done in years.

And the it all came back to him.

Bilbo scrambled backwards, out of Thorin’s reach, and clawed at the key handing around his neck. “You stole this from a dead man,” he exclaimed, the leather cord getting caught around his ears.

“When you say it like that…” Kili trailed off sheepishly, Fili pouting beside him. It really wasn’t that big of a deal.

Bilbo stopped his floundering to glare at the two of them. “It doesn’t matter how it’s said,” he told them, returning to his futile effort.

Thorin sighed, grabbing Bilbo’s hands to still them. “Let me,” he rumbled, before gently removing the key himself, fingers brushing over Bilbo’s sensitive ears.

He tried his best not to blush, but damn that man.

“We’ll discuss this later,” Thorin said. “But if you recall, we’re being followed.”

Bilbo harrumphed, cautiously getting to his feet, arms out to balance himself. He was downright horrified at Thorin. Perhaps he was a little rough around the edges, but to be an actual grave robber. When he got back home he was going to give Gandalf a piece of his mind.

“I can’t wonder why,” Bilbo hissed.

“Don’t be like that,” Fili said. “It was only our Dad.”

“Yeah,” Kili agreed. “I’m sure if he were alive he’d find it all very funny.”

Bilbo stared at them in disbelief. This was his life. With a shake of his head and arms waving frantically, Bilbo stepped away from the conversation.

He didn’t want to be part of their little gang. He did not want any part of this horrible quest, adventure, journey, thing. He wanted to go home.

What would his mother say?

“This is why I didn’t tell you,” Thorin said, breaking into Bilbo’s sulk.

He simply glared at the other man. “I’m sorry for being such a hindrance,” Bilbo snapped. “I’ll just leave you all here, shall I?”

“Why must you be so stubborn?” Thorin asked.

“Me?” Bilbo shouted. “Don’t you start with me, Thorin Durin. I’ve got your number, don’t think I don’t. You’re over there moping about with your secrets and your beard as if you’re the greatest thing to happen to archeology since Indiana Jones, but let me tell you something, you’re nothing but a washed up professor and without me, you wouldn’t even be standing on these hills, let alone aware of where Erebor is, so don’t lecture me on stubbornness. I may be set in my ways, but at least I’m not parading around pretending to be something I’m not.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Bilbo wanted to slam his head against a rock. When was he going to shut his big mouth? Apparently never. He could feel the rest of the company’s eyes on him, all waiting with baited breath at Thorin’s reaction.

Any warmness that Thorin began to show left him like a flash, his eyes cold, mouth turned down into a tight scowl. His back straightened and he turned his head. “Very well, Dr. Baggins,” Thorin replied steely. “I will leave you to it.”

And without another word Thorin grabbed his pack and headed back down the mountain.

Bilbo wanted to call after him, to run over and bring him back, but his legs were glued to the ground, and any apology that he could have given was stuck in his throat. He hadn’t meant for him to leave. Far from it.

But he knew how to push Bilbo’s buttons and Bilbo was tired of being treated like a second class citizen.

“Are you going to go after him?” Bofur asked.

Bilbo looked at the company, all shooting him pointed looks. He wasn’t going to be able to fix this! Especially not on his own.

“He’s going to kill me,” Bilbo answered. Bilbo may not have tact, but he did have some self preservation, if only a little.

“I’d follow him,” Balin offered. “He’ll get lost on his own.”

They really wanted him to chase after that great big lug. That stupid idiot. If he got lost that was his own fault. Just because Bilbo got a little angry, and maybe he said things he shouldn’t have, but Thorin shouldn’t have said all those horrible things about him either so as far as Bilbo could see, they were even.

“Fine,” Bilbo relented, huffing and grumbling under his breath as he was handed a torch. Once Bilbo got a hand on that idiot, he was going to strangle him.

Or he’d get Kili to strangle him, seeing as he could actually reach his neck.

Damn his short legs.

“Thorin!” Bilbo called. “Where are you, you stupid idiot.”

If anything he’d pop out of the bushes to shut him up. Which he didn’t. So that plan completely backfired.

Bilbo looked at the dark sky and groaned. He was tired, and hungry, and more than a little upset at this entire situation. He had wanted an adventure, but he didn’t want stupidly handsome archeologists, or secrets, and probably conspiracies. He just wanted to decipher his map and find Erebor.

It shouldn’t have to be this dramatic.

Bilbo inhaled deeply, only to find his face covered with a hand, his body being pulled into the dark covering of trees. He kicked and flailed his arms, but whoever had him was much stronger and was able to keep his arms pinned to his sides and lift him into their arms.

This was just great. When he got home, he was staying away from adventures. He was going to teach archeology 101 and never mention Erebor ever again.

“Sshhh,” the person hissed in his ear. “I’ve found them.”

What? Bilbo squirmed, turning his head far enough to note that Thorin was his captor.

This was just perfect. Anything else fate wanted to throw in his corner? A thunderstorm perhaps? A secret enemy Bilbo didn’t know about. He was just about prepared for anything at this point. An alien could walk up to him and Bilbo would probably smile and shake his hand because at this point, why not.

“The Huggins brothers,” Thorin growled, peering throw the foliage.

Some hundred yards away was the soft glow of a fire, two or three men milling about, each twice the size of Thorin, malicious glints in their eyes.

Bilbo managed to pry Thorin off of him and ducked a little closer to the ground. “Who are they?”

“Those are actual grave robbers,” Thorin answered. “They broke into my father’s tomb, looking for this.” He pointed to his chest,  no doubt where he had put the key after Bilbo’s rejection.

“They’re the ones following us,” Bilbo realized. So Thorin wasn’t just a paranoid weirdo. That was good to know. “What are we going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” Thorin answered. “We’ve got to go back and warn the others.”

“Tom thought he heard a bunch of squirrels,” someone said behind them, voice raspy and dripping with murder.

* * *

Dori fretted as he sat on his sleeping bag, checking his watch every so often. Those two had been gone nearly two hours and no sign of them yet.

“Stop it,” Nori grumbled, stilling Dori’s shaking leg.

“What if they fell off the mountain,” Dori said.

“That can happen?” Ori asked, fright beginning to worm it’s way into him.

Nori dropped his head into his lap. “They’re fine,” he reassured them.

“Probably shagging,” Dwalin broke in with a grin, the rest of the company groaning.

Fili and Kili covered their ears, not wanting to hear about their uncle’s love life. Sure, they liked Dr. Baggins, but they didn’t want to imagine both men in mid-coitus. It was disgusting. Their uncle had no libido and Dr. Baggins was a saint, and that’s how it was going to stay.

“They have been gone a while,” Balin broke in, raising an eyebrow at Dwalin who groaned, rolling his eyes as he stood.

“Alright, come on, whoever wants to find our lovers, follow me,” Dwalin relented.

* * *

Thorin and Bilbo were shoved to the center of their campsite, surrounded by hardened men with horrible scars on their faces.

The fire crackled behind them, the heat offering no warmth but a certain fear that at any moment they would be thrown within it. Bilbo fell onto all fours and tried to right himself, Thorin standing with his back erect, facing down the tallest of the men.

“If it isn’t Thorin Durin,” he smiled, large teeth yellowed, and one eye glassed over. “The boss said we’d find you here.”

Bilbo staggered to his feet, only to be roughly grabbed and thrown into Thorin. He felt Thorin’s arms wrap around him and he whispered, “They’re idiots. If you can escape, I suggest you try,” before setting him upright again.

“He’s quivering like a rabbit,” one of the men said, his nose eating up most of his face, grinning down at Bilbo.

“Shut it, William,” the glassy eyed one said.

William grumbled, kicking over a stone. “Who made you the leader, Bert?” he complained, plopping down onto the ground, pulling out his knife and stabbing it into the ground.

“Quit your fussing,” the other man said, the one with a large forehead, wearing a jacket with _Tom_ stitched on the front. “And call the boss. Let him know we’ve got Durin.”

“We’ve only got one of them,” Bert pointed out.

Thorin wasn’t fazed in the least by the brothers, looking as bored and uninterested as possible. Bilbo, on the other hand, tried to stop his trembling, mind racing. One of the Durins, they said, which meant they probably were also after Fili and Kili.

What in the world did they want with them? He mustered up all of his pent up rage and looked the one named William in the eye and spit.

William scrambled backwards, shocked. “He spit at me!”

Tom grabbed Bilbo by the scruff of his shirt, shaking him about.

“You take your hands off him,” Thorin demanded, shoving Tom away and checking Bilbo for any signs of injury. “This doesn’t involve him.”

“Got yourself a new pet,” Bert commented, motioning his head at William and suddenly Bilbo was in his clutches, Tom holding Thorin back. “The boss’ll want to hear about this.”

Yeah, Bilbo had no idea what was going on. He was so done with adventures.

He raised his foot and kicked it hard into William’s shin, the man letting go of Bilbo. He dodged the arm that lunged towards him and ran off, hearing the faint sounds of Thorin shouting at him to run, and honestly, what else would he do?

Once a good distance away Bilbo rested his head against a tree, legs shaky and breath coming in short pants. He had to do something. He had to get someone. He had to get his breath back before he passed out from oxygen deprivation.

“There he is,” Nori said, shining his torchlight on Bilbo, waving his arms in greeting. “Maybe they were shagging.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened, ignoring Nori’s comment and stumbling towards them. “They’ve got him,” he said. “Just down there, they’ve got him.”

“Where’s Thorin?” Dwalin asked, taking in the way Bilbo’s clothes were pulled and stretched, a light bruise apparent on his neck, even in the dim light.

“That’s what I’m telling you,” Bilbo cried. “They’ve got him.”

“Who?” Fili asked, sharing a look with his brother.

“I don’t know,” Bilbo said, shaking his head. “But there’s three of them. Thorin said something about them being brothers.”

Dwalin froze. “Shit.”

“What?” Bilbo asked. “Who are they?”

“Go back to camp,” Dwalin ordered, walking down the path Bilbo had taken not minutes ago, Fili, Kili, and Nori following close behind.

Bilbo gaped at them, insulted. He wasn’t just going to stand around and let Thorin become mince meat. He may not like him, but that didn’t mean he was going to let a bunch of meat heads without a brain between them go save Thorin without him.

He followed close behind, quiet as a mouse, pausing just before the other men reached a clearing, perfect view of Thorin and his attackers.

Thorin had a bloody nose, but sniffed in disdain at Bert, William, and Tom. Bilbo shook his head at his antics. He was not Indiana Jones.

* * *

Thorin wondered when these idiots were going to stop talking and actually do something helpful, like knock him out so he didn’t have to listen to them. Or give just a hint as to where Azog was hiding out now.

It was pretty obvious he was their unnamed boss. Thorin wasn’t an idiot.

They had been hired to bring back the key, but had yet to search Thorin.  He knew that was when he would be in trouble. He should have left the key with Bilbo, but instead had let his temper get away with him, as he was wont to do.

When he got away, he was going to apologize to Bilbo.

But not until Bilbo apologized first. He was still angry at him.

Bert punched him in the cheek again and Thorin did nothing but glare. Do your worst, that look said, and Bert was going to.

At least until he was tackled to the ground by none other than his idiotic nephew.

“Kili,” he shouted, shoving Tom and William’s off of him, prying his nephew off of Bert.

Bert looked up at them with hatred, eyes focused on Thorin. “Bingo,” he said.

William jumped on Kili, only for Fili to run out of the forest and jump on his back, punching him madly. Dwalin and Nori quickly followed, fighting off Tom, all fists and swear words.

Which left Bert for Thorin.

“Hand over the key,” Bert said. “Everything’ll be just fine. Maybe we’ll just break your bones a little, nothing too painful.”

Thorin snorted. Oh yes, that was indeed a compelling argument.

“Or your nephews.”

“Over my dead body,” Thorin snarled, lunging forward and smashing his fist into Bert’s ribs.

* * *

The key!

Bilbo scrambled around the forest floor, looking for something that could look like a key.

What was he thinking? He was on a mountain. There weren’t going to be any random keys. So… he’d just have to fashion something.

He ripped a button off of his cardigan and, using a loose string from his shirt, tied it to a pinecone. He held it up and figured that in the night and from far away, no one would be able to tell that it wasn’t actually a key.

Bilbo stood up and took a deep breath, running out of the protection of the trees and shouted, “Hey!”

The men continued their fight without so much as a twitch to show they had heard him. Bilbo grabbed the closest rock he could find and flung it at Tom, hitting the man square in the head, knocking him out cold.

That got everyone’s attention.

“I’ve got your key!” he shouted, holding up his makeshift key, Bert and William ignoring their unconscious brother to gaze longingly at decoy key. “And if you don’t let my friends go,” Bilbo continued, smiling tightly at Fili and Kili who looked ready to bolt towards him. “I’m going to throw it and you’ll never find it.”

“Go ahead, little rabbit,” William called back. “You don’t have the guts.”

Bilbo heaved back his arm and threw the pinecone as far as he could. Bert and William gasped in shock, scrambling off of Bilbo’s friends and running after the key, shoving each other out of the way.

Once out of sight, Bilbo hurried towards Fili and Kili, who were huddled together. “Are you alright?” he asked, checking them over for injuries.

“We’ve had worse,” they grinned. Bilbo ignored them, checking them over and seeing they weren’t too badly off, going to Dwalin next, and then Nori.

They all seemed to be fine, aside from some bruises.

“Let’s go,” Thorin said. “We should get back before they come looking for us again.”

Bilbo wanted to ask after his own wounds, but Thorin was already marching off, the other following his lead, and so Bilbo could do nothing but follow as well.

No apologies, and no thank you’s. What else could he expect from Thorin Durin.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo finally gets some explanations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD THIS TOOK FOREVER TO UPDATE AND I'M SO SORRY. LIKE UNBELIEVABLY SORRY. BUT I HAD THE WORST WRITER'S BLOCK AND I JUST GOT OVER IT. JUST THROW ME AWAY I AM TRASH.

Thorin broke into camp like a wildfire, rousing the company from sleep. “We must move,” he ordered. “Now.”

He quickly doused their campfire while the rest of the company packed their sleeping bags, ready to follow Thorin within minutes. Bilbo could do nothing but helplessly follow, any attempts at an explanation ignored.

They marched for most of the early morning, not stopping until they found a cave, signaling the beginning of the alcoves littering the mountain.

“Who were those men?” Bilbo demanded once everyone had dumped their packs onto the ground, spread out on their sleeping bags, trying to wrangle a few more hours of sleep before they were moving again.

Thorin groaned, but nodded, patting the rock beside him. “The Huggins Brothers,” Thorin began. “More commonly called the Trollshaws. Big, dumb, but willing to do anything for the right amount of money. Luckily, they run rather cheap.”

“Lucky for whom?” Bilbo mumbled, suddenly feeling the bruises along his arms.

“Hired thugs,” Dwalin put in, starting a fire. “Usually grave robbing, but as long as it can be stolen, they’ll jump at the chance.”

Typical thieves. Great. Just what Bilbo wanted. At least they weren’t the brightest. It was perhaps the greatest boon of this entire fiasco. Though it seemed likely they weren’t going to stop anytime soon. “How does everyone seem to know about his key?” Bilbo asked, feeling only slightly peeved that he hadn’t been informed until the last minute.

But they were hashing things out now and that had to count for something.

“Hold on,” Bilbo said. “How’d your family get a hold of it?”

Dwalin coughed, sharing a guilty look with Thorin. “The key has been in my family for generations,” Thorin replied. Given to my grandfather by his father and so on.”

So… it was a family heirloom? That made sense, in a way, and why no one had really mentioned it before. Wait – “Are you trying to tell me that, what – you’re descended from Erebor?”

More guilty looks. That definitely explained everything.

“You’re joking!” Bilbo exclaimed, more than a little upset by this whole discovery. Were they ever planning on telling him? No! They were going to keep him in the dark for the rest of his life. This whole damned expedition was one giant secret after another.

He was getting really tired of all this secrecy. They were better off robbing him in his sleep, then bringing him along if they were just going to treat him like a necessary burden.

“There may be a few things we haven’t told you,” Thorin said.

“Really?” Bilbo mocked, decidedly _not_ pouting. He was really tired of dumb Durins and their dumb secrets, especially the ones whose first names started with ‘T’ and ended in ‘horin’.

Balin watched from where he was resting as Thorin and Dwalin exchanged a silent conversation, Thorin pleading while Dwalin just answered with an unimpressed raise of his brow.

“Start at the map,” Balin interrupted, feeling that if he didn’t get the ball rolling, they’d all be here to Durin’s Day. And speaking of – “Durin’s Day. Come on. The sooner you finish, the quicker we’ll be on our way.”

“Durin’s Day?” Bilbo questioned, intrigued once more.

Thorin nodded, reciting, “Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun with the last light of Durin’s Day will shine upon the key-hole.”

“You’re named after Durin’s Day?” Bilbo scoffed. “That’s a bit presumptuous.”

“More like, Durin’s Day is named after him,” Dwalin put in.

Bilbo felt his mouth run dry. “Now you’re really pulling my leg!” he exclaimed, not enjoying being the butt of their joke. “I won’t sit here and be made fun of!”

He got up but was quickly pulled back down, Thorin’s face tinted pink as he tried to explain. “I’m only telling you what my grandfather told me,” he said. “Whether it’s true or not, I don’t know.”

“Than what’s this Durin’s Day?” Bilbo huffed. He had never heard of it in all his years of research. It was probably just a made up

“It’s Erebor’s new year,” Balin chimed in once more.

“New Year,” Bilbo repeated. “And when is that, exactly?”

“October 19,” Thorin admitted.

Bilbo did the math in his head. They left in late August and spent most of September driving through most of Iceland. “That’s in a week!” Bilbo shouted.

He looked towards the rest of the party. Half of them were snoring away, while the other averted their eyes, guilty, through and through.

They were just not going to tell him any of this. He could feel it in his bones. He had had it up to here with these men. Durin’s and kings and heirlooms; grave robbers and thugs. Bilbo was sick and tired of the entire affair.

 He wanted to go home.

“We’re not that far away,” Thorin pointed out.

Bilbo glared at him. Had Thorin ever looked at the map? Could he even read a map? Sure they weren’t far away, but they didn’t know where this door was. How did they know the key would work? What if Durin’s Day wasn’t actually on the 19th?

There were too many variables and Thorin was reliant on all of them.

“What if we’re attacked again?” Bilbo whispered. “What then?”

“We won’t be,” Thorin reassured him.

* * *

Two days later awoke, tied to his fellow friends, his head throbbing with pain.

A slimy, dirty figure of a man stared back at him, and nausea hit Bilbo like a ten ton brick.

He turned his head, ignoring the way the man breathed down his neck, looking at Bofur who was snuffling beside him. “Bofur,” he urged in hushed tones. “Wake up.”

The strange man watched Bilbo in curiosity, but didn’t forbid him from speaking to his friend, much to Bilbo’s relief. “Wake up,” he said just a little louder.

Bilbo couldn’t remember how they had ended up in this position. He recalled bedding down for the night in a damp cave, large and welcoming, unlike the rainstorm that had made them take shelter.

He remembered sitting by the fire and warming his chilled fingers, watching over Thorin’s shoulder as he pointed out their location on one of Bilbo’s maps, and realizing that he had been current in his earlier assessment. They weren’t that far after all.

But then the fire had gone out and suddenly they were being grabbed.

Bilbo had taken a sharp blow to the back of the head and now they were kidnapped, attacked, just as he had predicted.

When he got free, he was going to punch Thorin in the nose.

“Is everyone alright?” Thorin asked, Bilbo sensing him behind him, his voice vibrating the ropes that held them together.

There were several groans and Bofur finally stirred, his hat falling into his eyes. “Right as rain,” he murmured.

“What’s going on?” Bilbo asked, straining at his binds. “Who have we upset now?”

“Thorin Oakenshield, and company,” a great big man said, stepping out of the shadows and into Bilbo’s line of sight.

He was meaty, bits of fat dangling off his chin and over his belt. He was overweight to the extreme, his tiny feet looking absolutely cartoony in their rocky setting. But there was a menace in his eyes that ran shivers down Bilbo’s spine.

He was dangerous, and Bilbo knew that if he wanted to survive, he had better stay still and keep his mouth shut.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” the man continued. “Hope you’re all comfortable.”

“Granger,” Thorin snarled, pulling at his binds, Bilbo rocking along with him, Bofur not caring in the least, seeing as he was still trying to get himself together.

“You’re so dramatic,” this Granger man said, his chins wobbling as he spoke. “I’m merely checking up on my investment.”

Thorin glared. “Azog.”

“Azog,” Granger mimicked, wiggling his fingers before him. “I’m supposed to deliver you in one piece, if that’s any consolation.”

It really wasn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (pssst, Granger is the Great Goblin aka Goblin King.)


End file.
